


What We Are Born To

by holy_kami



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Disease and Sickness, F/M, Family Secrets, Minor Original Character(s), POV First Person, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, other character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_kami/pseuds/holy_kami
Summary: Annette Fantine Dominic is the first crest-bearer born to the Dominic family in several generations. Adopted by her uncle after the death of her mother, she arrives at the Royal School of Sorcery with the intention of convincing her wayward father to accept his familial duty and acknowledge her as his own true daughter. Of course, such intentions rarely proceed according to plan, and Annette eventually finds herself swept into the remnants of a rebellion to restore the rightful king to his throne.A story of secrets, romance, and the shifting roles we play on the stage of our lives.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 30
Kudos: 20





	1. The Bone Chill

“False. I will always be a Savaric, my lord. Do not deceive yourself. What I was born to may not be taken from me.' She hesitates. 'It may only be added to.”

\- Guy Gavriel Kay, _A Song for Arbonne_

\---

I was nine when my mother passed away of the bone chill. After two long years of war and famine, the disease had swept through the kingdom like a reaper. It claimed the lives of the young and old alike, ripping apart whole families and leaving many with neither food nor shelter. It was hardly surprising that the death toll was so high that year; indeed, it was the highest since the days following King Loog’s unification of the fractured duchies of northern Adrestia thousands of years ago. The people were weak and dispirited from years of fighting a losing war as the Empire continued its inexorable surge toward reclaiming the northern lands it had lost all those years ago. They saw themselves as our rightful rulers and they spared no expense in pursuit of reclaiming our lands. We were ripe for a plague like the bone chill to sweep through our towns and our villages only to leave us at the mercy of the Adrestian army. Of course, none of that mattered to me—I was only a child, and a lonely one at that.

In those days, my mother was my whole world. She taught me my letters and basic arithmetic, how to sew and cook and clean. She loved to sing as we worked, and I loved to imitate her. Sometimes in the evenings when we sat together under threadbare blankets next to the warm hearth, my mother would bring out her harp and we would sing to the music she coaxed from the strings. Other than myself, this was her most prized possession. The wood was carved with leaping fish and swooping birds of increasingly fantastical design. Those memories of us cuddled close together filling our small abode with song and laughter are the happiest of my childhood. We lived a simple life in a tiny house in the slums of Fhirdiad with no servants and only maintained a small income from the herbal remedies and potions my mother brewed to sell at market. I believe I speak truly when I say we were happy.

When the disease struck my mother during the spring just before my tenth name day, she sent me to the postmaster with a sealed letter. The wax was thick and red as blood. Bold, black letters indicated the destination was in western Faerghus, but I did not pay much attention to the name. At the time, I was too young to quite grasp how dire the illness was; I knew that she was sick, but I had the optimism of youth and I was certain she would recover quickly. It didn’t occur to me that she could die or that she was trying to secure my future. Nevertheless, I hugged my woolen cloak around my shoulders and hurried through the snowy streets with her missive clasped tightly in my hands. I don’t think anyone took much notice of me. I was a child in a cloak which was already too short and fraying at the edges; all who saw me looked away, as if I were a ghost rather than merely poor.

The bone chill is a horrible disease because it causes a slow, painful death. My mother forced herself to work alongside me in the house during the first several weeks of her illness, despite the way her hands shook and how her skin burned to the touch. I think that she knew I was too small to handle all of the tasks the house required on my own, and even now, all these years later, I am ashamed that I allowed her to do it. Had I insisted she remain abed, would there have been a chance for her recovery? I do not know, but I like to think that it may have been so. There are cases of people surviving the bone chill, of course, but none of them had the same strength or health from before the disease struck them. It is just as possible that she would have remained unable to move from her bed and, in the end, what kind of life is that?

I can still clearly remember the day a tall man with hair as starkly orange as my own knocked at our humble door. I stood blocking his way into our house as much out of pride as to keep him away from the sickness that had pervaded our lives. The bone chill was contagious, and I am sure that it was the Goddess herself who protected me from contracting it. Our neighbours were well aware of our situation, so no one had visited us since my mother succumbed to it and nor did we seek out companionship. I went to the market alone and well bundled to mask my face lest I carry the disease and spread it while I purchased the bare necessities for our life. The knock at the door was not only frightening because I was not expecting visitors but also because it was madness to willingly visit the home of a family afflicted by the disease.

He held a delicate white handkerchief over his nose and mouth. The man glared down at me through cold, blue eyes as though I stank of something foul. I bristled under his gaze. I was a child who feared no one because I still believed that my mother would always be there to protect me from anyone who meant me harm. I admit that I was naïve; I was a child, and who would dare to say a child should be otherwise? 

“Is this the Lacroix residence?” the man drawled after a long moment of glaring at me. His voice had the tone of an aristocrat who hoped the answer was “no” so that he could return to a nicer part of the town.

I wanted to lie to him. I didn’t know who he was and I felt oddly threatened by the coldness of his eyes and the sharpness of his voice. I peered past him and saw two men-at-arms standing at attention, spears tight in their hands and their eyes staring carefully ahead at nothing in particular. There was another man just behind them with graying hair and spectacles sitting low on his nose. He reminded me of what I imagined a grandfather might look like. I bit my lip and squared my shoulders, unsure of the wisdom of my decision.

“It is,” I replied in the haughtiest voice I could muster. “We are not accepting visitors. Good day!”

I tried to shut the door in his face, but he was much stronger than I was, and he merely braced his arm against it. He glowered down at me like an oversized bull who was not likely to keep an even temper for long. It should have cowed me into subservience, yet somehow I felt all the more defiant.

“Run and tell your mother Guillaume is here,” he sneered through the cloth. He pushed past me as though I were not even there and trailed mud across the carpet into our tiny sitting room. I stood frozen with shock that he would dare to enter a home into which he had not been invited. His voice drifted loudly from the room ahead. “How quaint. Dust and dirt everywhere, no different than the hovel she came from.”

A heavy hand rested on my shoulder. The kindly looking old man’s eyes sparkled down at me. “Be a good girl and let your mother know we are here,” he told me gently. “She sent for us weeks ago. I am sorry that we have been delayed in our arrival.”

“She did?” I asked blankly. “Why?”

He tilted his head quizzically. Perhaps he thought I was stupid. It would not have been an incorrect assessment.

“Please, go to your mother and tell her Guillaume Dominic has arrived,” he said through the heavy black scarf. His eyes seemed sad.

Not knowing what else to do now that these strange men had invaded my home, I fled up the stairs to my mother’s bedroom and eased the door open as quietly as I could. It smelled musty despite the chill breeze from the open window. I knelt by her bed and took her hand in mine, running my fingers over the bony ridges of her knuckles. Her eyes were sunken in her face and her breathing was so shallow I almost thought she breathed not at all. Leaning close by her ear, I whispered “Mama, there is a strange man here calling on you. He said his name was Guillaume and he entered our home without my leave.”

At my words, she stirred feebly in the bed and opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and stood out starkly against her pale skin. “Guillaume is here?” she said through a hacking cough that racked her whole body.

“Yes, Mama.” I stroked her hand soothingly. A little desperately, I added, “I’m sorry, he would not listen when I told him he could not enter. He pushed right past me into the sitting room.”

“That is so very like him,” she murmured. She tried to sit up, but her arms were too weak to support the effort and she fell back against her damp pillows. Her voice was more bitter than I had ever heard it when she said, “That I should have beg his aid in this state shames me more than anything else I have done in my life.”

“Shh,” I hushed her, pulling both quilts up and tucking them around her shoulders. “You must not try to speak Mama. Just rest so you can recover. I will send him away, I promise. Just leave it to me.”

“No, Annie.” She turned her face toward me and I felt that she looked at me with more clarity than she had in a long time. “You must bring him to me. I must speak with him before…”

Her once-beautiful voice trailed off and she collapsed back against her sweat-soaked pillows once more.

“Before…?” I queried in a tremulous voice. Already exhausted from speaking with me, she closed her eyes and said nothing more. Her breathing was shallow, too little to waste on unnecessary words. I stood and smoothed the front of my brown smock to gather my courage. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I was thoroughly disconcerted by the morning’s events. No one had ever visited us who was not a neighbour seeking an herbal remedy my mother had prepared or a friend seeking an evening of companionship and song. No one would visit us while the bone chill persisted in our house. It was simply too dangerous.

As I descended to the main floor, I heard the big man commenting on the dinginess of our home and my anger flared once more in my chest. I fought to control it before I stamped into the room, though I knew my success was limited. _How dare he mock us!_ I thought wildly as he carelessly dropped an unfinished scarf my mother had begun knitting to the floor by the window. _What kind of man enters a stranger’s home and treats us like this?_

“My mother bids you come to see her,” I managed to relay with what I considered minimal disdain. I forced my hands to lay flat against my skirt and met his gaze.

“Look, Jérôme, the woman can’t even be bothered to rise and greet her guests.” Guillaume swept his free arm in a wide gesture to indicate that he was unsurprised by such an insulting display of hospitality. It made me sick.

“My mother is very ill,” I snapped shrilly before the other man could respond. He swung his gaze to me, but I refused to be intimidated. “She would descend if she were able to do so! Will you force a sick woman to wait or will you come now?”

“I see the kitten has teeth,” Guillaume observed dispassionately. He was already moving past me as though he had already dismissed my presence from his mind. His guards made no sound nor movement to follow him as I seethed with anger in the doorway to the sitting room. My hands were balled fists by my side and my nails dug hard into the skin of my palms.

I hated him.

“I am sorry to ask this of you at such a time,” Jérôme murmured, clutching his scarf against his face to minimize exposure to the air in the house. He crouched down beside me and looked into my face reassuringly. His green eyes were kindly, and I realized I liked him much more than the man who was no doubt already harassing my sick mother with unkind words. He did not look like the kind of man who could bring himself to treat a woman and her daughter with so little respect. “Annette, you must begin gathering your things. We will be on the way within the hour. Lord Dominic does not like to be kept waiting, and I expect he will not be patient once he is done speaking with poor Eleanor.”

I stared dumbfounded at the man. He gave me a gentle push toward the stairs and smiled encouragingly at me from beneath the scarf. It made his green eyes twinkle.

“How do you know my name?” I asked him, pausing with my hand on the worn rail. I had many questions, but this one seemed the most pressing.

His eyes widened very slightly in surprise, but his voice was even when he spoke.

“You are the only daughter of House Dominic. Your name is not hard to recall.”

I stared at him. “House Dominic?” I echoed uncertainly.

“All will be made clear in due time,” he said quietly. He glanced up the stairs and nodded slightly. “It would be best if you do as I said and pack your things.”

I ascended the stairs and considered his words carefully, though I had no intention of packing anything. Nothing made sense to me. This was my home and I was Annette Lacroix. I loved our little house with its dark wood paneling and the faded red carpets. I could not imagine leaving this place and certainly not in the company as such strange men as these. I had never known anyone by the name of Dominic in all my life. If my mother’s letter had truly summoned them, she must have mentioned me by name. It was the only explanation that he would know to call me Annette. Beyond that, I could make neither heads nor tails of what he said.

As I approached my mother’s room, I slunk back against the wall and edged through the shadowed hallway toward her door. Guillaume had not bothered to shut it. I peered around it as far as I dared, though I needn’t have bothered with much stealth. He stood with his back to the door several paces away from my mother’s bedside.

“Really, Eleanor, why do you think I should help _you?_ ” he asked with ill-disguised contempt. “As I recall, you stole the girl from her rightful home. You chose this fate for her, not I.”

“I stole nothing,” my mother rasped. I heard her hacking cough overtake her ragged breathing. Guillaume stepped back another pace. “I am begging you to take her in now because I have no other choice. Were there any other option left to me, I would have seized it. I will not leave her for the Adrestians.”

He was silent for a time. My mind raced to comprehend what my mother had said. That they discussed me was plain. I did not understand what Adrestia had to do with anything nor could I believe she had stolen me from anywhere, so I listened intently hoping to glean some kernel of understanding.

“Does she have a crest?”

The question hung in the air. I didn’t understand it.

“If she does, it has not manifested yet,” my mother replied stiffly after a long silence. “If she does not possess one, all the better. If ever you cared for your brother, do this for him. Protect her.”

“Why?”

My blood ran cold. The word seemed to hold a lifetime of questions. I bit my lip and strained my ears to catch her reply.

“You don’t need me to answer that. You are already here.” She paused. “You already made your choice.”

Guillaume did not deign to respond. He spun on his heel and stomped out of the room. He stared straight ahead so he did not see me pressed as close to the wall as I could possibly be. My heart raced in my chest with the adrenaline; I had never before intentionally eavesdropped on anyone, let alone my mother. The conversation filled me with dread and a thrill of anticipation. As his boots thudded down the stairs, I darted into the room and quietly shut the door behind me. I resolved not to be as careless as he had been.

My mother’s eyes were clenched shut and her thin fingers gripped the sheets as tightly as she could. Her white teeth were bared beneath her bloodied lips and I realized that she was trying not cry out in pain. The pain was the reason it was called bone chill: an afflicted person would perspire far more than normal and feel feverishly hot to the touch, yet they felt a freezing cold spread through their body. Eventually, their bones would become so brittle that they began to snap as spasms of pain contorted their limbs. It was the reason few survived the disease and those that did were never able to move unassisted again. In many ways, death was preferable.

“Mama…” I murmured, feeling the cold dread fill my chest again. “I’m here now, Mama. Everything is going to be all right.”

“Annie…my darling,” she breathed through the pain. Her chest heaved now as she tried desperately to suck in enough air to speak. “Listen closely. You must leave here with this man. You must do everything he asks of you. If you do well, you will be safe and you will live a long, happy life.”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “What is wrong with here? Why must we leave?”

“No, Annie, you must go.” She coughed again and I heard the unmistakable sound of a bone snapping. She could not hold back the scream and I could not hold back my tears. It seemed like a very long time before she was able to speak again. “I am dying, darling. He will take care of you now that I cannot. He is your best chance at a good life.”

“You’re not dying,” I said stupidly. It was a poor attempt to lie. Now that she had said it, I could not deny the truth. “You’re going to be all right, Mama. I’ve prayed to the Goddess every day. She will make you well again.”

If she heard me, she did not acknowledge my words. Instead, she turned her head as far toward me as she could and continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “You see my locket on the table, darling? Take it and keep it with you always. Take my harp too and go with your uncle Guillaume. Please, Annie, do as I say now.”

I wanted to ask her so many questions, but it was clear that she would not be able to answer them. Already she had used nearly all of her remaining strength to say this much to me. With shaking hands, I took the silver locket from her bedside table and turned it over in my hands. Inside was a perfectly miniature portrait my father. She had worn it everyday of her life until she could no longer leave her bed. I could not recall ever seeing her without it, and taking it felt almost like I was stealing something precious. Perhaps it was because I still tried to believe in my own childish way that she was going to live.

The harp was locked in a soft leather travelling case with a battered brass buckle. It was too big to fit my small frame, but I slung it over my shoulder and padded quietly back to her bedside. I could feel my nose itching with mucus and tears dripping down my cheeks, but I ignored them. It felt wrong to stand here with her most prized possessions and slowly begin to acknowledge that she was dying. I wondered what it would feel like to realize that I no longer had a mother to turn to when I was sad or uncertain or to share my triumphs. It felt like I stood upon the cusp of becoming an orphan; I hadn’t even seen my father since I was a toddler. He had gone off to war and never returned. My mother rarely spoke of him except to say that she believed he would return when the time was right.

At nearly ten years old, full of bitterness and sorrow, it seemed to me that the right time had long since passed.

“Please, Mama, come with me,” I begged in a small voice. “I will do anything you say but I can’t bear to leave you. Please, Mama.”

“I will always be with you,” she whispered. Her voice sounded like a crinkled leaf. “Be strong, my darling Annie, and remember that I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said through my sobs. I learned forward and pressed my lips against her cheek as gently as I could. “I love you too, Mama!”

“Go.” She opened her eyes for the last time and smiled at me. I knew I would never forget the image of her laying there on her deathbed and bestowing upon me one last, proud smile. “Go now, and live.”

I went.

\---

My childhood died with my mother’s passing.

I was not there when the Goddess took her. I think my mother intended that and held on long enough for Jérôme to herd me into a waiting carriage that bore me away from the home I had known all my life. She was too kind to wish her young daughter bear witness to her death, but I still felt as though I had failed her. It was not until I had grown and seen my own fair share of death that I realized such guilt was misplaced. I could not have prevented her from catching the disease and nor could I have healed her of it. In fact, I had done as much and more to maintain our home and ensure her comfort during those dark days than a child should have to do. It was far kinder for her leave me with the memory of her life than that of her cold, broken body.

Nevertheless, I was nigh inconsolable for the first several weeks of my new life. Grief for my mother’s death consumed me and I struggled to assimilate into the household of Guillaume Dominic. If not for Jérôme’s kindliness, I don’t doubt that the rest of my childhood—if it can be called such—would have been downright miserable. He patiently explained things in such a way for a ten-year-old to understand which meant leaving out a lot of the important details, not that I realized it at the time. He told me that my mother had taken me away from my father’s house when I was but a babe and that now I was back in my rightful home. When I asked why my mother would have done such a thing, he would not say. I loved my mother, but the vague allegation that she stole me from my extended paternal family sowed doubt through everything I had known.

I learned very quickly never to ask my uncle Guillaume anything. He was foul tempered at the best of times and made no pretense of wishing to know me. He left me for Jérôme (who acted as something between valet and household steward) to manage, which he did well enough despite his own duties. A tutor visited the Dominic estate twice weekly to educate me in all of the things that other noble children my age ought to have known since the time they could write. Many of these lessons required me to memorize the lineages of those families who could trace their roots back to the Ten Elites, recognize the geography not only of Faerghus but also that of Fódlan, and understand the social and political structures of our country. I threw myself into my education with such vigor that even my uncle could find no fault with my work. I studied hard not because I wished to impress my uncle but rather to distract myself from the loss of my mother which had left an aching hole in my heart.

My uncle was married and had two children several years my senior. They lived with their mother throughout most of the year on the northern coast of Faerghus, so I rarely saw them. Upon their first visit to Dominic after I arrived, they maintained a distance from me and excluded me from their conversations. I felt like an outsider who was always looking in from the outside, completely unwelcome amongst the family I had never known and who showed no interest in knowing me. Jérôme seemed to take pity on me and found a variety of books to read to supplement my regular tutoring. It was a way to keep my mind occupied and although it did not ease the pain, I was nonetheless grateful for his kindness.

When I was not engaged with my studies, and especially while my estranged cousins were in residence, I explored every nook and cranny of my new home. There is nothing that escapes a child’s attention, especially one without siblings or friends. I became a favourite of the household cook as I paid rapt attention to the way she prepared the food for the day and learned how to cook more elaborate meals than anything my mother had taught me with our limited resources. More than once, I scurried away from her domain covered in flour or smelling of spices to change surreptitiously into a fresh dress so that my uncle could not criticize my choice of pastimes if he chanced upon me during the day.

The garden was a favourite place of mine, at least when the weather was pleasant. My uncle employed two gardeners to maintain the variety of plants despite the fact there was too much for them to handle alone. They were disinclined to discourage me from assisting with the work and went to great pains to teach me the proper care of the plants. My days spent working under the hot sun without a hat were very likely the reason I developed a healthy sprinkle of freckles across my nose and why the colour of my hair lightened from a carrot orange to a lovely shade of apricot. They showed me a corner of the garden that had been overrun by weeds where I could plant many of the same herbs and flowers my mother had used in her work brewing salves and potions. I liked doing things that reminded me of our life together despite how my chest ached when I dwelt on it.

This was the pattern of my days as summer inevitably turned cool and fall arrived in a flurry of warm colours and falling leaves. Sometimes, I could pretend I was happy, that I didn’t mind being alone, and that I was simply on a trip away from the mother and the home for which I truly longed. My cousins departed with a stiffly formal goodbye at the end of Verdant Moon which I returned in kind. I was not sorry to see them go. I had become more adept at eavesdropping since my first successful attempt and, having overheard a rumour that my uncle might go with them for a time, I was disappointed when that proved not to be the case.

So it was that as I fell into a routine in my new home that the first of several surprises arrived with the onset of autumn.

It was near the end of Horsebow Moon when Jérôme found me tending to my herbs in the garden. My nails were crusted with dirt and my dress was full of grass stains, but I smiled brightly when he approached.

“Look.” I pointed to the row of herbs and placed my hands on my hips with pride. “They’re almost ready to harvest.”

“Excellent,” he replied with a cursory glance over them. He turned back to face me and appraised my appearance, frowning at my soiled dress and tangled hair. “You have a visitor, Annette. Be a good girl and go change quickly. Then present yourself at your uncle’s study.”

“A visitor?” I asked warily. Who would be here to visit me? My mother was dead and gone, I had no friends, and my tutor hardly counted as a visitor.

Jérôme could see the hesitation in my face, but he only waited for me to do as he said. He might look like a grandfather, but I sometimes wondered if a grandfather would be so strict. I dragged my heels as he hurried me out of the garden. Despite my misgivings about the news, I could not deny my curiosity. I asked him again who it was, but the old man only shook his head and pointed up the stairs with an air of finality. Defeated, I trudged up them as slowly as I dared. 

“Wash your hands thoroughly,” he called after me as if afraid I might forget. “Don’t dawdle, Annette.”

“Yes sir,” I muttered, though I did put more spring into my step.

Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the heavy oak door to my uncle’s study and paused. I had changed into a yellow kirtle and pulled most of my unruly hair into a thick braid. My fingers still bore the unmistakable signs of digging in the dirt, but there was nothing to do about that. I decided I would hide my hands behind my back so that no one would see them. I glanced down each end of the hall and when I was satisfied that there was no one to see me, I pressed my ear against the keyhole. I could hear men’s voices through the door, but it was too thick to make out anything they were saying. Nevertheless, I stayed that way for several minutes straining my ears to hear even a single word until I could no longer justify wasting time with a fruitless attempt.

With trepidation and curiosity warring in me, I raised my fist and knocked smartly three times.

There was a pause in the voices and the unmistakable sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor. I held my breath as the door swung inward.

“Annette…”

The man in the doorway was jarringly familiar to me. His face was pale and lightly lined at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He had a smattering of dark stubble across his jaw and an almost comically large nose. His eyes were the colour of periwinkle and his lips were chapped and thin. His hair was thicker than my uncle’s and trimmed perfectly evenly around his head, but it was already greying at the edges. He was dressed head to toe in a grey tunic belted tightly over chainmail and thick, grey boots. I was staring at him, and some dim part of my mind knew that it was rude, but I had forgotten all the manners my uncle had insisted I learn. After all, I had seen this man’s face a thousand times and dreamt of the sound of his voice. I had fantasized that he would come for me and take me back home to Fhirdiad. I had hardly dared believe it would happen.

“Father…?” I squeaked.

“Annette, my daughter,” my father murmured. He fell to his knees in the doorway and held his arms open. I threw myself into his embrace, heedless of propriety, and snuggled my face into his shoulder. “You’re all right. Thank the Goddess!”

“Father, father,” I sobbed. “Where have you been? I am so lonely…”

“I know,” he murmured, running a gentle hand down my back. “I know, my dear. I’m here now. Everything will be all right.”

In my naiveté, I believed him.


	2. A Plan Hatched

“All knowledge is worth having.”

― Jacqueline Carey, _Kushiel's Dart_

\---

“Please take me back to court with you,” I begged. “Please, Father. I’ll be good, I promise.”

I had spent weeks preparing myself to ask this of my father. When Jérôme had first brought me to him, I thought my father would want nothing more than to be with me. He had lost his wife and I my mother; surely, it stood to reason that we should be together. For the first time since I arrived at this lonely manor, I felt happy. I had a father and I believed with all my heart that he had come to take me home. What did it matter that he left me there to languish for months after my mother passed into the Goddess’ care? I convinced myself that if it had been possible, he would have come for me earlier, that it was mere circumstance that kept him from leaving his post as soon as he received the tidings of her death.

At the sound of my voice, Father looked up from the parchment in his hand and glanced at me. His eyes were pale blue, the shade nearly a match to my own despite the dark circles and harsh lines around them. Yet, I could tell that he didn’t really see me. Always his gaze was distant and sad, as though his mind and heart were elsewhere. He never spoke of it to me and I was too timid to ask him directly what it was that caused him such despair. After our first bittersweet meeting in my uncle’s study, my father always kept me at arm’s length. His laughter would stop abruptly when I entered the room and he only spoke to me in formal, businesslike terms. More than once, I caught him staring at me with a peculiar mix of emotions. Usually he seemed to look at me with guilt or shame, though I couldn’t imagine what I had done to merit any of that. He rarely looked at me with true joy or pride. Somehow, it was difficult not to believe that I was the source of his pain. I began to wonder if he blamed me for Mother’s death and felt that if not for my helplessness, she might have somehow survived.

Whatever sorrow he clung to so desperately, it was never for me to know. It was a hard lesson to learn, but over the last four years, I had learned it well. He would smile at me when he arrived at the estate and he would ask me how my studies were going, and for that one, fleeting moment, he seemed to truly care about me. Then, as inevitably as the changing seasons, as soon as I spoke, that profound sadness would creep back into his expression, and no matter how brightly I chattered or how eager I was to see him, my father would inevitably begin to draw back from me. Even before we were done with our pleasantries, that same faraway look would appear in his eyes once more, and nothing I did or said could change it.

“I cannot,” Father replied heavily. He turned his eyes back to the letter.

“But why not?” I whined. Inwardly, I chastised myself for such childish behaviour. He would never bring me to court if I were not mature enough to reflect well on him. I inhaled deeply and began again. “Please, Father, I won’t be a bother. I will study hard to be a proper lady and stay out of your way.”

“The court is not…fit for a girl like yourself,” he replied after a pause. A shadow passed over his face. “You will be much more comfortable here.”

“I understand if there is no one my age there,” I said immediately. My palms felt clammy, so I discreetly brushed them against my skirt. “I will keep to myself and stay well out of trouble.”

“It’s not that, Annette. There are others near your age, of course.” He spoke hastily, as if trying to find a way to explain why he would not bring me even though I might find friends my own age there. “Many noble families foster their children at court and visit regularly. It’s just…well, court is dangerous. It would be irresponsible of me to bring you there. I fear you would be very much alone.”

I was already very much alone, but I did not think that pointing it out would help my case. I tried another tactic. “Father, it would benefit my studies so much if I could attend court and make use of the library there. I have learned so much here, but Uncle Guillaume only has so many texts. My studies will soon stagnate.”

Father folded his letter without appearing to have heard anything I said. I watched him tuck the letter into the inner pocket of his dull gray robes with immense care and tried to quash the curiosity that flared in my chest. I was exaggerating the issue slightly, but I would not allow this chance to slip through my fingers without a fight. If I were unsuccessful, it would likely be months before my father returned to visit again. I stared at him, willing him to agree and offering a silent prayer to the Goddess that she might move his heart to grant my request.

“No, Annette.” Father spoke with an air of finality although he avoided meeting my eyes. He stood with his back to me, staring out the window across the sundrenched grounds. Perhaps it was so that he would not have to look at the hurt expression on my face. “On this, I will not budge.”

“Why?”

The question burst forth from my lips before I realized what I had done. It sounded sulky. I regretted it immediately and if I could have somehow turned back time and held my tongue, I would have done it. This was not part of my plan. I was supposed to prove how I was ready to accompany my father to court without being a burden. Now I was certain that I had ruined any opportunity to show him that I was anything other than a silly, childish girl with a fine disregard for parental authority. I bit my lip anxiously and stared at the floor.

“You are too young,” he mumbled at last. I heard him move toward the door and set his hand to the brass handle. I had the distinct impression that he was fleeing my presence. “Perhaps in a few years you may be able to visit.”

The door clicked shut behind him. I stood silently in the centre of the room, staring at the red carpet with the insignia of House Dominic woven in aged yellow thread. My heart felt as though he had slid a knife into it. I resolved that I would not cry no matter how deeply his words had hurt me, but the tears threatened to fall, nonetheless. I didn’t want to have to explain my sorrow to anyone. It was easier for everyone for me to pretend that I was content with my lot.

“You said there were others there of an age with me,” I whispered into the stillness of the room. “If that is so, then how am I too young?”

No one answered me.

\---

My father did not visit the estate frequently, and when he did, he rarely stayed more than a fortnight, and sometimes not even that long. During his visits, he spent most of his time meditating alone, either in the garden by the small, stone fountain or in the small alcove dedicated to the Goddess on the main floor of the house. I had never seen anyone else pray as much as he did—certainly my uncle was far too engrossed in the tasks of running the barony and ensuring that his natural family was well provided for to bother with much religious observance—but it was something we seemed to share. My mother had been quite devout and taken me to weekly masses before she had fallen ill. I never tried to join my father in prayer the way I had with her, but sometimes I watched him from behind the shadow of a thick drape covering a nearby window which overlooked the formal garden. I wondered what he prayed for so diligently and wondered selfishly if ever he spared a prayer for me.

When he was not kneeling in prayer, he was bound to be in one of two possible places. The first was the old practice grounds where my uncle and the household guards would hone their fighting skills. I did not try to hide when I went to watch him there and I could not disguise my interest in the activity. The first time I watched him, I was scarcely past eleven years old and I could not believe the size of the axe he swung in strong, precise arcs through the air. I remember how it had gleamed silver in the sunlight. Perhaps I should have been afraid to see him swing it with such ease and perhaps I should have wondered how many people he had killed with it. Instead, I found myself awed by the ease with which he hefted it in his hands and how the pain he always carried seemed temporarily banished from his eyes as he moved in unison with his weapon.

Sometimes he tested the mettle of our guards, offering them advice on form or a quiet word of admiration, but they generally seemed to avoid him as much as the rest of the household did. My father did not seem particularly bothered by this treatment and I wished sometimes that I could act so aloof, but such a deception seemed beyond me. Where he maintained a sober and formal demeanour, I tried to hide my own pain behind bright smiles and politeness that bordered on extreme.

With the servants, I was largely well-liked. I kept my bedroom so orderly that the maids had little to do except sweep out a bit of dirt each day. I spent hours in the kitchen with Cook helping her prepare meals and preserves for the winter months, and she took a special interest in teaching me all there was to cooking. Although I was prone to tripping over boxes of supplies and dropping sacks of flour onto the floor, she never berated me for my clumsiness. The gardeners became very fond of me as I proved to them that I was not afraid to get my hands and knees dirty as I tended the plants. Of course, there was also Jérôme, who I looked up to as though he were truly my grandfather rather than merely my uncle’s steward. He ran the house with a firm hand, ensuring everything was orderly and in good repair, and he was careful to ensure that my learning proceeded efficiently so that I soon would know at least enough not to embarrass House Dominic if ever I was seen in public. Often, he would slip me a sweet honey candy when no one was looking and smile conspiratorially with me.

Still, I saw the way that Jérôme and the older members of the staff looked at my father and there was no kindness in that. Cook’s face darkened if ever he passed by her domain and she spoke only in short, curt phrases to him. The older maidservants glared at him as he passed, sometimes going so far as to whisper behind their hands. Even Jérôme, with his sparkling green eyes, looked at him disapprovingly and followed my father’s orders with only the barest hint of deference. It was as though the household considered him a pariah in his own home and he seemed to accept their scorn as his due. It made no sense to me and no one would speak of it when I was within earshot.

When he was not at prayer or training, the only other place my father would be was locked in my uncle’s study. After our earlier unsuccessful discussion, I determined that I would make another plea to be brought back with him to Fhirdiad once our evening meal had concluded. I judged it better not to allow him to think I had been moved to acquiescence so easily. Armed with my newfound resolve, I spent the remaining hours of the afternoon preparing myself for a conversation where I refused to make the same mistakes again.

Dinner was a subdued affair with very strained conversation between the two men ranging from the forecast to the rising price of wool as winter drew closer. They were careful to keep the conversation bland when I was near, but I knew that they would inevitably retire to the privacy of Guillaume’s study as soon as the meal was ended. I didn’t listen closely to their words. Instead, I considered how I would approach my father and allowed myself to briefly absorb the sound of his voice. If I could not have my mother, I was determined to be with my father. Surely he could understand that.

I was staring listlessly into my pea soup when my plans were abruptly taken away from me. The doors to the dining hall creaked open and the steward’s measured footsteps echoed through the near-silent room as he approached our table. He bowed to my uncle and then again rather more stiffly to my father. “A bird has arrived for you, sir,” Jérôme said coolly to him. He held out a sealed message.

Father stared at it for seven long heartbeats before he closed his eyes and nodded once.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly. The steward withdrew without another word to any of us. Once the doors had shut behind him, he spoke to Guillaume, the letter still sealed in his hand. “Brother, these tidings cannot wait. I leave tonight.”

I stared diligently into my soup, but my body had gone rigid. _Tonight?_ I wondered, my mind racing to comprehend it. I had not expected him to leave for four more days and certainly not until the morning after breakfast, as was his usual custom. I wondered what could be so important that he must leave during the night. It meant that I wouldn’t have a chance to accost my father about bringing me to court until his next visit. I certainly wouldn’t be able to convince him to bring me with him now on such short notice.

“There are still certain matters to discuss.” Guillaume’s voice was icy.

“His Majesty will not wait.”

“His Majesty will not even know whether you departed now or in an hour.”

The benches scraped against the floor as they stood. I sat quietly watching them from the corner of my eye, completely forgotten. My uncle rarely spared a glance for me unless I was somehow to blame for something or for being underfoot. My father clutched the missive so tightly in his hand that I could tell it was crumpled beyond repair. He did not look at me, but I hadn’t expected him to either. He spent most of his time avoiding looking at me. Together, they departed the room conversing in urgent whispers.

My curiosity was piqued. It occurred to me that although I knew my father was a knight who served King Lambert, I did not really know what that service entailed. Was he merely a bodyguard, and if so, how often was his life endangered to protect the king? We were not at war, but was he ever sent into battle, no matter how insignificant? How many battles had he seen in his lifetime? Why had he chosen knighthood? It bothered me that I had no answers to any of these questions, yet it was my own fault that I’d never asked him anything about himself. When we did speak, it was always about me.

I sat for a few moments longer, briefly suspended between the knowledge that I should seek my room for the evening and longing to know what they said. What kind of message could summon my father away with such urgency? My mind was set: I would see if I could eavesdrop on them. If I was to be thwarted in my attempts to accompany my father back to Fhirdiad and live with him there, then I at least wanted to know why.

No one has ever accused me of being particularly good at spying—indeed, in the years to come, that villain would frequently complain about my inadequacy at the art—but I was young and lonely and I wanted nothing more than to be with my father. My mother had not told me much of him and I had felt complete with her. If she had lived, would I long so much to have a father in my life? I didn’t know. Yet she _was_ gone, never to return, and I was left in the care of an uncle who wanted nothing to do with me and a father who avoided me. Steeling my shoulders, I hopped off the bench and trotted out of the dining hall in their wake. I needed to understand who my father really was in order to become the daughter he would be proud to have at his side in Fhirdiad. I knew next to nothing about him, after all, and that was no way to build a relationship.

The Dominic estate was a sprawling house with two floors and a cellar where my uncle kept a generous supply of wine. Guillaume’s study was on the main floor near the back of the house with a private entrance into the formal gardens where he might entertain guests. I slowed to a walk as I turned down the hall which led to my destination, trying to look innocent in case any of the servants happened to see me. To my relief, I saw no one in this wing of the house and breathed a blessing to the Goddess at my good fortune. I felt a rush of adrenaline fill my veins as I stood before the imposing double doors.

They were shut firmly but I was undaunted. I pressed my ear against the keyhole and strained to hear through the thick wood. After several minutes, I had to acknowledge that eavesdropping might be more difficult than I thought. Stories made it sound so easy—just listen at the keyhole and you could hear entire conversations and save the world with the knowledge you gleaned! Stories didn’t prepare you for how the thickness of the wood muffled the voices in the room just beyond, nor how terribly obvious you would look to any passersby. As exciting as this endeavour was, I kept looking over my shoulder in case Jérôme turned the corner or a maid approached with evening tea and biscuits for the men.

 _There must be another way,_ I thought, although I was in no way certain that I was right. I pondered for a moment and made a dash toward the end of the hall. I slipped into the garden and crept as quickly as I dared back around the side of the house toward the beautiful glass doors that let into my uncle’s study. Thankfully, they stood open to let in the warm evening breeze. I stepped into the flowerbed inched along the wall, tripped over an upraised root that I couldn’t see clearly in the darkness and bit my tongue to keep from crying out. When I judged that I was close enough, I placed my right hand flat against the stone wall and braced my left against a weathered flowerpot that perched delicately on the edge of the flowerbed. It wobbled slightly but remained in place. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned my ears to listening.

“—not to be trusted,” my father was saying. His voice was a low rumble. “Ever since we negotiated a peace with them, he has had to contend with opposition on all sides. Not to mention those nasty rumors.”

“Surely His Majesty doesn’t really believe any of that,” Guillaume replied, though he sounded doubtful.

“He takes everything seriously. Even the most benign rumor could precede a real threat.”

“Perhaps. Yet perhaps also Adrestia has the right of it. What good do crests serve when they are so fickle? Look at us, Gustave, and tell me how different our lives would be if we had been so fortunate as to be born with one.”

“The Goddess—” my father began indignantly, but Guillaume cut him off.

“I say nothing that you yourself, Gustave, have not already thought,” he said smoothly. “Nor, I think, what many others have thought. Crests are farther and fewer between than they were four hundred years ago.”

“You speak treason,” Father growled. I heard footsteps move closer to where I stood, and I tightened my grip on the wall and the statue and tried not to breathe. I couldn’t see him from my vantage, but I knew he stood in the doorway and I could imagine his scowl. “Heresy.”

“I am merely stating a fact. I did not say I agreed with it.” He paused but my father remained silent. “Nevertheless, this brings us to the crux of the matter.”

“Get on with it then,” my father replied sullenly.

“The girl is of an age to be tested.” Guillaume’s voice took on a hard edge and he dropped his tone lower so that I craned my neck as far as I could to catch the words. “Past the age, in fact. My own sons were tested well before they were ten.”

“You think she possesses a crest.”

It was not a question. I felt goosebumps prickle across my arm. I wasn’t sure if that was some premonition of foreboding or merely because my limbs were growing sore of maintaining such an ungainly position.

“It is possible.” My uncle’s voice was carefully non-committal. “Her tutor says she is a quick study and that she shows promise in magic. Few in our family have shown magical prowess in the last eight generations. Only Lady Fantine and Lord Tobias possessed the crest of Dominic in those eight generations, and both are long dead.”

Silence. One of the first things Jérôme had set me to study while he arranged for an appropriate tutor was my paternal lineage. Lord Tobias was the older of the two and had been a fearless warrior in his time. I recalled that he died in a bloody battle with what had become the Leicester Alliance. Legend said that only his ashes had been returned. Lady Fantine was my great grandmother, but she had died before I was born. She was said to have been a strong leader in an uncertain time when war with Adrestia was rising to a crescendo. She, too, had led troops into battle and returned only when a grave injury had forced her retreat home. Until her death, Lady Fantine had ruled the barony with an iron fist.

More importantly, both had been powerful warlocks.

“So you have agreed,” my father said at length.

“No. Not yet.”

“If she has a crest, you will send her to Fhirdiad.”

“Does that displease you?” Guillaume asked pointedly.

My father moved away from the door. His voice was fainter when he said “Yes.”

I felt my heart sink in my chest. To hear it spoken so baldly hurt me deeply. Ever since I had arrived in this lonely house, I had wondered why my father never brought me back to Fhirdiad with him. Surely there was space for one small girl by her father’s side. For years, I dreamed of sharing a home with him, continuing my studies and learning from him in turn. I envisioned it not unlike the life I had known with my mother. I did not need a spacious manor nor a castle to be happy; a shack would do as well as anything if it came to that. I needed only the love and regard of my father. My emotions were roiling in my belly and I missed much of what followed. When I finally found the will to turn my attention back to their conversation, I felt wooden and disoriented.

“—shame is entirely your doing,” Guillaume sneered. “You shame our family even now, _Gilbert_.”

“I know.” My father’s voice was resigned.

“You have relinquished any choice you may once have had—”

I never heard the rest of what my uncle said. I felt something soft and sleek twining between my legs. I couldn’t see what it was for the dark skirts that hung to my ankles and the hydrangeas were bloomed so fully that I couldn’t even see my feet through them. I felt dazed from what I had heard and my mind was still struggling to comprehend the bits of conversation that floated through my ears. I felt a rising panic and peeled myself away from the wall with a terrified cry and realized belatedly that I’d used the flowerpot as leverage to push myself forward. I fell gracelessly into the flowerbed as a dark shadow leaped out onto the stone path and hissed menacingly toward the house. I held my breath and prayed to the Goddess that they would not find me.

Footsteps echoed near my hiding place, but I dared not move to see how close they were to me. I hoped that my dark skirts and the hydrangeas would be enough to conceal me from prying eyes. Had I realized the flowerpot would so easily tip over with even the slightest amount of pressure, I would have found another way to brace myself for my spying. Who would ever have thought a stone flowerpot would be so weak?

“It’s just a cat,” Father said from somewhere to the right of where I lay unmoving.

“That scream didn’t sound like a cat,” my uncle replied, sounding unconvinced. He walked right past my hiding place and paused near where my head lay between the bushes. “There was someone here.”

“We would have seen someone running into the darkness if that were the case,” my father pointed out. “The decorative trees here aren’t large enough to hide a spy.”

“Not an adult,” Guillaume muttered acerbically. He moved away from where I lay to confer with my father. “I’ll summon the guard to do a thorough search of the area. Whoever was here cannot have gone far.”

“What possible reason could there be to send a spy here?” my father mused slowly.

My uncle did not reply. I wished I could see them. You could tell a lot by how one man looks at another, or by how a woman places her hand on a companion’s forearm. Was Guillaume’s silence a rebuke toward my father or merely a shared silence of contemplation? I didn’t know. It seemed that there was an awful lot that I didn’t know, and that lack of knowledge felt like a dark hole that I longed desperately now to fill. The shadow of ignorance felt heavy on my shoulders and I held back tears of frustration and pain from all I had overheard.

 _I will no longer allow myself to live in ignorance_ , I vowed to myself as I listened to the sounds of my father and uncle hurrying away to alert the guard. I stood carefully, brushing the dirt from my dress and moving quickly in the opposite direction. _I will see myself educated in all things. I will show my father I am a daughter worthy of his regard!_

\---

I didn’t see my father depart the estate that night and he did not return for many more months. Left alone to my own devices, I threw myself into my studies with a renewed effort that delighted my tutor and begged Jérôme to see if there was anyone who could teach me the basics of my magic. I’d never thought much about it before I overheard my uncle’s words about Lady Fantine and Lord Tobias, and I was determined not to allow my talent to stagnate before it had a chance to grow. However, magical tutors were expensive to hire and my uncle was unwilling to spend the coin on it. I had to be content with my current education.

Or did I? The more I considered my situation, the more determined I was to do everything within my power to learn everything I could about myself, my family, and the world. My tutor was quite fond of my thirst for learning so it was not difficult to convince him to procure additional books for me to study in my spare time. Indeed, he was delighted that I wished to continue further studies outside of our allotted time together and bemoaned how not all of his students were as eager to learn as I. I felt only a small twinge of regret as I used him to obtain what I could not on my own.

He brought me back all kinds of things—genealogies and histories of all the countries of Fódlan, histories of both branches of magic, and even a handful of biographies of famous historical figures. I suspect many of the tomes were from his own personal collection, so I handled them with reverent care and took extensive notes of my own so that I could pore over the content with a closer eye long after I returned them. It was in this way that I began to practice the basics of magic that any mage must master in order to truly set her feet on the path to becoming a warlock worthy of the title.

With my desire woken, I wasted no time in trying my hand at spellcasting whenever I could find time to be alone. My experiments were not without danger, of course. Having a proper instructor would have made things much easier—not to mention safer—but as I could not have one, I had to make do on my own. I caused any number of small fires no matter how careful I was to practice away from too many flammable objects, and I overturned more than my fair share of trees and tools that our household staff left around the grounds. Twice, I spooked a cat out of hiding and it hissed at me reproachfully. Sometimes I brought pieces of salted fish out in hopes of mollifying him. And so I practiced diligently as often as I could manage and tried to learn something that was best passed from master to student.

When I was not engaged in practical exercises in magic, I spent my time studying the history and philosophical uses of magic. I learned that everyone had some propensity for magic but that most people could not channel that latent talent into any meaningful form. Those few who brimmed with skill could become masters at the art with diligent practice and could easily match the most skilled warrior in the amount of devastation they could inflict on an enemy. The book made it very clear that such mastery was extremely difficult to achieve and was by no means something every mage could do; indeed, the more I read, the more I began to see my ancestors in a different light. They must have been powerful indeed if even a fraction of the stories about them were true. I wondered if I could ever match them and promised myself that I would do all I could to do so.

But thinking of my ancestors brought other concerns to the forefront of my mind. All of the genealogies I read were very detailed and I could follow the family trees easily enough, yet they raised more questions rather than answering any of mine. Some of the books were too old to even include my grandparents and those I set aside without additional study. The most recent ones went as far as my father and uncle, and though they did not include my cousins yet or myself yet, they did include my aunt. There was a straight line that connected her to my uncle and the words “Inheritor” under his portrait. Yet there was no line connecting my father to my mother and thus, there was no place for me to exist. Under his portrait were merely the words “Knight of Seiros.”

It was not until Great Tree Moon in the year 1178, right on the cusp of my fifteenth naming day, that I finally found the courage to approach my uncle’s study. My father had been absent from the estate for months, and I had no idea when he might return, yet I knew I could delay no longer. I was uncomfortably aware that I was growing older with each passing year, and that each year would take me further from what I desired. I could not rely on my father, after all. His visits were too erratic and when he came, he spent considerably little of his time with me. No, the path was clear: if I was to do anything, or be anyone at all, I must go to my uncle. My mother had told me to do as he bade me and insisted that if I did so, he would keep me safe. She had never given me cause to doubt her word and it was all I had to go on. Hands trembling, I knocked three times and waited.

“Enter.”

I sucked in a breath to bolster my courage and pushed the heavy door open.

The room was suffused with the bright, spring sunshine and impeccably clean. Tall shelves full of books of all sizes dominated the wall to my left while a map of Faerghus hung on the wall to my right. Heavy red drapes were tied to each side of the doors leading into the garden. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a low table while my uncle sat behind a huge desk in the centre of the room. He did not look up as I entered. His quill went _scritch-scratch_ across the parchment. I waited quietly with my hands clasped demurely in front of me. I had tried to account for every possible way this meeting could go, and I was determined for it to be successful where the one with my father all those months ago had failed.

“It is not often that you visit me,” Guillaume observed without looking up. “Dare I ask what you want now? Not another request for a magic tutor I hope.”

If all went as I hoped it would, there would be no need to make that request again.

“No,” I said, hoping I sounded calm. “I would like to be tested for a crest.”

My words surprised him. Guillaume looked up abruptly and stared at me through narrowed eyes, studying my face as though trying to discern an ulterior motive. I held his gaze with as much equanimity as I could muster. He was younger than my father, but the lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth made him appear much older than his actual years.

“Why?”

“As a daughter of House Dominic, I may have inherited our family crest. If that is so, then I must use it to serve our House as a faithful member of the family,” I said easily. I had been prepared for this question.

Guillaume looked taken aback by my frank response. His bushy eyebrows climbed up his forehead so that he looked somewhat like a startled fish. I tried not to let my expression betray how pleased I was at this.

“You are well past the age to have been tested, but I’ve not seen any sign of the crest of Dominic manifesting in you.” He spoke carefully, as if explaining this a small and rather slow child.

“That is true,” I agreed pleasantly. “I was very young when my mother passed, and we had no access to any kind of testing. Then, when you so kindly took me in, Uncle, I was educated as befits a daughter of the house but still, I was never tested. I would like to correct that oversight as soon as possible.”

I was embellishing the truth about my education, and I am certain that my uncle knew that, but I judged that flattery and deference to his hospitality would win me what I really wanted. He thought for a long time, his fingers steepled in front of him and his sharp eyes watching me closely. I dropped my gaze slightly, trying to look demure rather than assertive. It was imperative that he see me as respectful and slightly fearful of him, and in truth, this was an easy role to play. I did not have to pretend to fear him; he was well-known as a formidable foe in battle and he was always a harsh, calculating man. I had the sense that he could be absolutely ruthless in pursuing what he desired for himself and his family. That was exactly why I needed to be tested.

I needed to be indispensable to him.

“You are right, Annette,” he said finally. He stood and rang a bell near the door to summon the steward to his study. “We have been negligent.”

When Jérôme arrived, he bowed and accepted his orders without question. He gestured that I should follow him, so I curtsied to my uncle, thanked him for his time, and followed the kindly old steward out of the room. He led me to a small sitting room that my aunt had been slowly redecorating for the past several years. There were still covers tossed over the furniture to protect it from dust and paint splatter, even though the painters had finished their work weeks earlier. Jérôme steered me into a chair and bade me pull back the cuff of my sleeve so that my wrist was easily accessible. Then he left me to fetch something from storage in his own office.

“I have heard there is a new device that may be used to tell if an individual possesses a crest,” the steward said conversationally when he returned. He pulled on a pair of white gloves and settled in a chair beside mine. “They say a very learned lord in Adrestia invented this machine and that it does not require blood to determine whether one bears a crest.”

“That sounds like a very useful device,” I agreed, eyeing the syringe in his hand nervously.

“There are not many in existence yet,” Jérôme said. He dabbed my wrist with a damp cloth to ensure the area was clean. “Thus, we must proceed with the older style of testing wherein the individual must surrender a small amount of blood. The sample will be sent to a scholar in Fhirdiad for testing.” He paused and smiled at me. “I promise it will be but a pinprick, Miss Annette.”

“I’m ready.”

Jérôme was nothing if not efficient. I turned my eyes away and winced slightly when the syringe broke the skin, but he had found the vein without any trouble. What I had dreaded taking many minutes of pain actually only took a few seconds. After he had drawn a sufficient amount for testing, Jérôme set the syringe aside and tied a thin strip of bandage around my wrist, although there didn’t seem to be any blood to staunch. I looked at the syringe curiously. My blood was very red but it looked like it could be anyone’s blood. There was nothing about it that set it apart from any other ordinary person’s blood.

“You can’t see if someone bears a crest without testing it.” Jérôme caught my gaze and nodded at the syringe. “I’m afraid that I don’t know anything about the exact procedure required, but the scholars at the Royal School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad will be able to tell us whether or not you are lucky enough to be a crest-bearer.”

As we stood to leave, another stray thought occurred to me. I paused by the door and turned back to the steward. “Jérôme, what can you tell me about the Royal School of Sorcery?”

He tilted his head and considered the question for a moment. “Well,” he began quietly. “It is a very famous school in Fhirdiad. It is part of the Royal University Campus which is made up of two schools covering many different areas of study. The campus is best known for the Royal School of Sorcery and many of the very best mages have studied there during their lifetimes. The histories say that even the late Lady Fantine once studied there.”

I had heard of the Royal School of Sorcery from my tutor, but it had been an abstract place in my mind. I knew it was connected to the royal palace and that it was an extremely competitive school to enroll at, requiring prospective students to pass a difficult exam before they could even consider a place there. If I was found to possess a crest, would I be able to persuade my uncle any my father to let me apply to the school? If they agreed, would I be able to pass the exam and earn a place? I had no answers, but I knew that I had no other choice.

It was my only hope to be closer to my father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story continues :) This one was difficult to get started, but I am quite pleased with how it turned out. You must be wondering where all our other players are, but trust me when I say they will appear in due time. No sense in rushing ahead right?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, as always. I hope you enjoy the way this story is unfolding, and will bear with me as Annette navigates through her life as a daughter of House Dominic. 
> 
> Love, Kami


	3. The Road to Fhirdiad

“It isn't what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.”

― Jane Austen, _Sense and Sensibility_

\---

Harpstring Moon arrived with a deluge of spring rain that made it impossible for me to practice my magic since I required an outdoor area to do so that was relatively free of obstacles. Confined to the inside of the manor, I spent my time on my more mundane studies and on the small hobbies I enjoyed. I re-read the careful copies I had made of my tutor’s old books and tried to tease out new understandings and ponder all the things that still seemed out of my grasp. I tended to a pot of flowers I was trying to cultivate in my bedchamber and then read more. I spent time in the kitchens with Cook and followed her directions with the alacrity of a new kitchen maid. For my birthday, I prepared my own vanilla cake and topped it with freshly sliced berries. I shared it with all the kitchen staff and even brought a slice to Jérôme. He smiled indulgently at me and proclaimed it fantastic.

And so the days crawled by until I thought I might go mad.

I was not unaccustomed to waiting, but that was not to say I enjoyed it. I hated waiting to see my father and never knowing when he might arrive or how long he might linger, but his was a coming I could neither control nor predict. It did me no good to dwell on where he was at any given moment, so I did my best to keep my thoughts occupied. I could not afford boredom. I could not bear to lose myself in longing for things I could not have. To do so would be to risk my chance to go to Fhirdiad where I could be closer to him and where he would never be able to avoid me completely. I would go to the Royal School of Sorcery and from there, I would find my father and build a home with him.

Nearly a full month passed before we received any message from the capital at all. It arrived on the first day of sun after a long week of dull gray clouds and the occasional downpour of cold rain. I only heard of it because I happened to be in the stables when the pigeon arrived. I was a moderately competent rider, but my father had never gifted me a horse of my own and my uncle certainly showed no inclination to part with one of his own stock. I had leave to ride the horses my uncle considered lesser quality and I was fond of a sweet mare known as Rain due to the speckled pattern of her gray coat that resembled little raindrops. I was brushing her down when I heard a commotion from the direction of the coops.

We both pricked our ears at the sound but the soothing feel of her beneath my hands had momentarily pushed all thoughts of my impending test results from my mind. I had nearly finished untangling her dark mane when one of the stableboys passed by the entrance of Rain’s stall. I called him back. “What’s happened? Is something wrong?”

“Bird from the capital, Miss,” the boy said with a slight tip of his head toward me. “Poppy’s taking the scroll to Steward Jérôme.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed but the boy had already turned and hurried off on his own duties. I sighed. A letter from Fhirdiad could be anything. There was no reason to get my hopes up when it might just be correspondence from one noble to another, or something from my father to my uncle. I must had stood there idly for several moments because Rain nudged me with her nose and snorted impatiently until I began carefully combing through her mane once more.

When I had finished grooming the horse and mucking out her stall, I hurried into the house and up the stairs toward my bedchamber. I stank of sweat and manure from the stables, but the letter from Fhirdiad occupied my thoughts so thoroughly that I nearly barrelled right into a tall decorative vase as I gained the landing. When I was satisfied that I had done no permanent damage to it, I slipped into my room and pulled off my soiled clothes and washed myself down with cool water from the ewer, resolving to do a more thorough cleansing later that evening. I pulled on a light kirtle of green fabric and looped my hair back behind my shoulders.

Now what? The weather was fine enough to practice my magic, but supper was only a few hours away and I didn’t want to have to change again before that. Guillaume did not always dine with me—more often than not, I ate alone or with the servants for company—but I didn’t want to risk the chance of missing a meal with him in case he happened to mention the contents of the letter to me. Admittedly, it was a longshot. I desperately wanted to know if the letter was indeed what I suspected, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to approach my uncle directly about it. I reasoned that if it was about my blood test, he would seek me out and tell me so.

With that decided, I sat at my writing desk, pulled a stack of notes forward and began to read.

\---

Guillaume did not come to dinner that night or any of the nights following. Every day he spent in his study behind closed doors and only retreated to his bedchamber late in the night. I tried once to stroll casually through the gardens past his study, but the glass doors were shut tightly, and I could see nothing out of the ordinary inside. Had the message from Fhirdiad come from the Royal School of Sorcery in response to the blood sample Jérôme had taken from me? Longing is a special torment for anyone, but doubly so for me because the plan I hatched to be near my father balanced on the edge of a knife. Whether or not I possessed a crest would determine my fate.

On the last night of Harpstring Moon, I sat once more at my desk poring over a particularly tricky passage about casting a formidable spell known as Excalibur and idly wondering if I could attempt it myself when I heard a sharp _tap-tap-tap_ at my door. The candle flame on my desk flickered as I rose hastily to open the door just enough to see who might be visiting me so late at night. Visitors to my own chambers were unusual enough and I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had knocked well after suppertime.

“Lord Dominic wishes to speak with you,” Jérôme informed me gravely when I answered. He was still dressed in his black suit. I wondered if he had even gone to his bed yet. “He and Sir Gilbert await you in his study.”

“Thank you,” I said even as my heart began to pump faster. It _had_ to be the results of my blood test. There was no other reason he would wish to see me at such an odd hour. And my father was here too! He always came unexpectedly, but I could not recall a time he had arrived in the middle of the night.

I rushed past the steward and took the stairs two at a time. That turned out to be a bad idea as I managed to trip on the hem of my nightdress in the process and found myself tumbling down the last few in a most undignified fashion. Yet nothing could truly slow me down; I felt the adrenaline of pure excitement coursing through my veins as I came to stand in front of the doors to his study. I took a moment to catch my breath before knocking and being invited to enter.

The drapes were closed to the night and a warm fire burned in the hearth casting a warm orange glow throughout the room. Two hardbacked chairs were pulled up in front of the desk which was stacked with papers on both ends. I could not see any refreshments set out, so I deduced that my uncle either did not expect this to be a long audience or he did not wish to encourage us to linger once it was over. _Probably both,_ I decided as the door swung shut behind me.

My uncle was seated at the desk and staring at me from over his knuckles. His expression was bland as I made my curtsy and I felt him scrutinizing my appearance rather more critically than usual. Then again, it was entirely possible I was just hyperaware of his gaze and attributed a reason for it that fit with my own expectation. Despite the chairs that were set out, my father stood with his back to me. He stared into the crackling flames as if he had never seen such a thing before. I glanced between them and stood poised on the balls of my feet, unsure if I intended to spring forward to get a closer look at the stacks of paper on the desk or bolt for the door. Guillaume gestured for me to take a seat so I sat as primly as I could. The silence seemed to stretch very long before my uncle finally spoke.

“I’ve had a response from the crest scholars at the Royal School of Sorcery,” Guillaume said without preamble. He nudged the letter toward me. “Read it.”

I snatched it off the table.

_23 Harpstring Moon 1178_

_Lord Guillaume Dominic,_

_Greetings from Scholar Lukas of the Royal School of Sorcery. I hope this message finds you well._

_We have received your request to test the blood sample you sent on behalf of one Annette Fantine Dominic. I am pleased to report to you that our findings indicate the subject does possess the crest of Dominic in the minor variant._

_As per our standard guidelines, the subject’s name and crest type have been recorded in our archives. If you could kindly send a full report of the subject’s genealogy so that we may make a full trace of the bloodline that led to this inheritance, our scholars would appreciate the additional data._

_Should you have further questions, please do not hesitate to ask._

_Sincerely,_

_Lukas Graf_

_Crest Scholar, Royal School of Sorcery_

I set the letter back onto his desk and found myself unable to hold back a small, satisfied smile. One step closer. My uncle had already told my father he would send me to Fhirdiad if I had a crest, and he hadn’t specified if it mattered whether it was major one or not. An exciting thought struck me in that moment—perhaps that was why my father was here! I wasn’t sure how long the journey to Fhirdiad would take and if they wanted to send me to Fhirdiad right away, perhaps it would be faster to start in the dead of night. Maybe my father would just whisk me away here and now. It was the kind of fairy tale that all lonely children cling to when hope flares before their very eyes.

My father had not moved from his place by the fire. Guillaume picked up the parchment and read it again. Then he sighed and looked at me. I felt as though he were judging me in some way, but I had no idea why.

“So, you do have a crest,” he mused slowly, stroking his chin with two fingers, and leaning back in his chair. “What made you think that you did? I can’t imagine you would have requested a test if you didn’t suspect it.”

This question was skirting too close to that night I tried to spy on his meeting with my father. I couldn’t admit to it, so I tried to feign ignorance with a slight shrug. “I didn’t, not really. I just thought that since you have taken me in and seen to my needs, it was only right I be tested and be of use to the family if I did possess one.”

Flattery seemed the safest route, so I tried to make my voice sound sincere. It wasn’t even a lie—I _did_ want to be useful to my family. I may have come to them in ignorance and grief, but I longed to be recognized as more than just the stolen daughter. I didn’t know if I believed the gossip I had heard about mother spiriting me away from this place, but I was sure of her love for me. Without my mother’s love, I felt naked in the world, a lone sapling that was beset by a tornado while my father and my uncle made decisions about my life without my input. I trusted that they had my best interests at heart, but even so, a child wants her parents. Guillaume never pretended to see me as a niece, much less a daughter, but I didn’t want that from him anyway. After all, I had a father already.

Still, as my eyes slid to glance over at his straight back, a small, nagging part of me wondered if my father even wanted me.

“Your crest does open up a number of opportunities for us,” Guillaume agreed, speaking more to himself than to me. Then, in a low, bitter voice he added, “It’s a cruel jest that you, of all people, possess a crest when even my own sons do not.”

By the fire, my father hung his head. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept my silence and waited.

“For now, I expect you to continue your studies and prove yourself a learned addition to the family line.” His tone brooked no argument. “Don’t think that because you have a crest that you are more important than my own sons.”

“Of course not!” I cried, aghast that he would feel the need to warn me of that. I had never considered usurping my cousins in anything. I looked toward my father, hoping he would defend me to Guillaume, but he remained stoic and silent. “I would never dream of it.”

“Good.”

I wondered why my father was even here if he wasn’t even going to so much as greet me. Neither of them was looking at me but I hadn’t been dismissed either. I sat uncertainly in the chair before I blurted out, “Will I go back to Fhirdiad then, with Father?” 

“Fhirdiad?” Guillaume repeated. By the hearth, my father’s shoulders stiffened, and his hands clutched at each other like claws. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not of an age to live on your own.”

“I wouldn’t be alone!” I objected. “Surely if there is no place for me with Father, there must be plenty of rooms in the dormitories at the Royal School of Sorcery. I wish to study there, and learn all—"

“You will remain here, Annette.” My father spoke for the first time that night. His voice was flat, almost icy. I snapped my mouth shut. He did not even bother to look at me. “I have told you this many times now.”

“There’s no need for you to go to Fhirdiad.” Guillaume’s tone was absolute, but I saw the glare he threw at my father. “Your crest presents as many problems as it does possibilities. For now, Gilbert is correct: you will remain here and attend to your studies.”

“There is more,” Father said at length. It sounded like the words came from somewhere deep inside him. His voice seemed devoid of any emotion. He turned toward me and opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. I felt a prickle of fear creep across my skin.

Guillaume made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. His eyes were full of loathing toward my father. I waited silently, my whole body taut with dread. There was a history here that I didn’t understand, something that seethed beneath the surface of every conversation between them.

“Neither my brother nor I bear a crest,” my father began rather awkwardly. He was looking in my direction, but I could see that he stared past me at a distant corner of the room. “None of your cousins, aunts, uncles, or anyone else bears a crest. No one in our family has borne one for many long years.”

“Get on with it,” Guillaume muttered loudly.

“You said you wished to be of use to the family, and with your crest, you will be.” He paused and then said the words I never expected to hear. “Guillaume has formally adopted you into his family. You will do as he says from now on.”

The room felt too warm. I felt the world go still around me.

“You’re lying,” I said in disbelief. “Surely, Father, you don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it.” He glanced at Guillaume but if he expected any support from him, my father was disappointed. My uncle was watching me closely. I felt my face go paler. “Guillaume controls the family fortune and estate. I serve the Royal Family and I am sworn to them until I die.”

“What Gilbert is trying to say,” my uncle said nastily when he could not continue. “Is that you are of no use to me as his daughter. He has no say in this family and nothing to inherit. When he dies, you will have nothing. To be of use to our family, you need to _be_ a part of it. Formally, you belong to me now and _I_ will decide what is done with your crest.”

My crest. Not with me. The distinction was not lost on me, but my mind refused to focus on it. My father didn’t want me. It could not be possible, and somehow it was. My mother had told me time and again that he would come for me when the time was right, that she trusted him to love and care for me as she did. I had clung to that hope all these long years and what did I have to show for it? I had been reduced to little more than a pawn in a much larger game with no control of my own.

“Father...” I slid off the chair and tried to walk to him on unsteady legs. He held up a hand to stop me.

“No, Annette, do not…do not come closer. Listen to me.” He was not crying, but his voice was so thick that I had to strain to understand him. I could feel my own tears sliding down my cheeks. I wiped them away angrily, ashamed to be weeping in front of the men who were tearing my life apart. “Guillaume will take care of you and see that you are educated as befits your station. You will be safe here.”

“I don’t care about being safe!” I cried. “I don’t want a new father! How could you do this?”

“I should not be a father,” he murmured. For the first time all night, he was looking into my eyes. “This is for the best, for both of us.”

“The contract has already been signed,” Guillaume said implacably. He held up a scroll with the Dominic crest imprinted in red wax. “It is done.”

Done and done without my knowledge. I stared at the scroll, recognized my name and their signatures and quite suddenly it was all too much for me. My father had turned back to stare blindly into the fire again and my uncle had turned his attention to other papers on his desk. I recognized that I was dismissed. I fled hastily from the room, my mind racing to comprehend all I had been told. Guillaume had received this information at least a week prior and no doubt had summoned my father on an urgent basis. Had they always known he would give me away if I possessed a crest?

I tried not to cry even as I mourned the life I had lost.

\---

Very little changed in my life after my father handed me over to my uncle. Guillaume did not require that I call him “father” and preferred if I kept to myself as I usually did. Nor did he try to act as a parent toward me. I accepted this arrangement with as much equanimity as I could muster, yet still I nursed a growing loathing for my uncle. Everyone could see that I was little more than a pawn for him to use as he saw fit and my value to him was tied solely to my crest. Without it, I am sure he would have ignored my existence entirely. I do not think it unlikely that he would have eventually turned me out of his home without it.

Of my real father, I saw almost nothing. He avoided the estate after that disastrous night, and I received no correspondence from him either. It was just as well since I burned with anger at what he had wrought for me, but somehow his absolute disappearance from my life for a second time was still painful. The most difficult part of myself that I had to reconcile was that deep down in my heart, I still loved him, and I still wanted him in my life. I wanted him to know how deeply hurt I was by his actions and I dreamed that he would see his error, apologize profusely, and we would be happy together like we always should have been. I recognized it was the dream of a child, but I indulged myself and plotted ways that I could make it true.

When my despair finally ebbed and I could think clearly again, my thoughts turned to my crest. I hadn’t been able to properly absorb the fact that I bore a crest and the initial excitement that had bubbled in my chest had long since vanished, but I was still intrigued by it. How could it be that I was the first descendent of the Dominic line in two generations who bore our namesake crest? My uncle had sounded so bitter about that even as he sought to determine how best to use me. We all shared the same bloodline, so why was it that neither my father nor my uncle or my cousins—or indeed, any other branch of our family tree—possessed it?

I resolved to ask my tutor about it during our next lesson, but his answers were disappointing.

“Not much is known about crests,” he told me one evening while he packed away his teaching supplies. “Although, the scholars at the Royal School of Sorcery have been studying them for many years. They have published several treatises on crests, but none were widely distributed, and their findings were inconclusive.”

“But crests have existed since the time of the Ten Elites, have they not?” I pointed out, unwilling to concede the point. “Surely someone must know something more about them.”

“They say the priesthood of Seiros at Garreg Mach knows much about crests, but they guard their knowledge jealously,” he said with a careless shrug. “Whether it is true, I cannot say. The priesthood is old, though, so there may be some merit to it.”

With that tantalizing rumor, I realized that if I wanted to learn anything, I needed to go to Fhirdiad. My tutor was a kind and intelligent man, but he was limited in what he could teach me. More than ever, I longed to leave this lonely estate and return to Fhirdiad where I could have access to the largest library that Faerghus had to offer. My only comfort was that Guillaume had not said that I would never go, only that I would not go right now. That hope was dangerous, though, and not only because my uncle was fickle at the best of times. I was already fifteen years old, far older than most children were when they first arrived at the school. Noble children were educated first at home by a tutor, but often were sent to private schooling in the capital (assuming their family could afford it) before they were even ten years old. It was not uncommon for such children to be educated at the campus in Fhirdiad until they were twenty. I would be a very late starter indeed.

As I pondered how to approach the situation with my uncle, I continued my self-taught magic experiments as much as possible. I “liberated” scarecrows from our kitchen garden to use as dummy targets and attempted to hone my skills whenever I had a spare moment. I seemed to have a knack for using wind magic, and although I could summon small gusts, I struggled to do so with ease. None of the scrolls I studied spoke in clear terms of how to properly control the magic I used but they were full of warnings about the dangers of ill-controlled magic. Without a proper teacher, I knew I was risking my safety, but the desire to use my magic constantly bubbled through my veins. It was a fascinating experience to feel the force of wind surround me and know that I could direct it to do my bidding, though such control was sporadic for me.

Equally sporadic was my crest. Now that I was aware that I possessed it, I tried to be conscious of when it activated. I knew from my studies what each family crest was purported to do, so I knew mine should make it easier for me to use combat magic over a longer period of time (which also went a long way to explaining how previous bearers had been such fearsome foes on the battlefield) however I cannot truly say that I noticed any difference. I wondered if I was doing something wrong. Perhaps the bearer needed to invoke the crest in some way for it to activate, but if that was so, I had no idea how to do it. Since I was the only person to bear the Dominic crest in several generations, there was no one I could ask either.

Over a year after passed since my father unceremoniously left my fate in the hands of my uncle and I saw him only once during that time. He did not see me, and he did not linger in the house, but seeing him made my heart ache. I prayed to the Goddess to take away my pain and I begged her to make me cease my longing for the father who did not want me, but those feelings only grew sharper. I had thought myself so very clever until I was faced with the reality of my life and my powerlessness to change anything.

One fine day during Blue Sea Moon, Guillaume summoned me to appear before him in his study. It was an unusual request because my previous initiatives to speak with him had mostly been rebuffed and I will admit that my curiosity was piqued. It was a warm day, and the study was suffused with sunlight that made the walls gleam richly. Perhaps if I had been younger and more naïve, I might have been awed by the appearance of the room, but I only spared a cursory glance around as I took my seat demurely in front of Guillaume’s desk. He looked tired but his voice was brisk and businesslike when he spoke.

“I have been considering how best to use your crest,” he began without so much as a hello. “As you know, I have already arranged marriages for my own sons, both of which will be completed within the next two years.”

“Yes, I am aware of that,” I replied cautiously. I forced my hands to lay still in my lap.

“Now that I am responsible for your future as well, I must be careful to choose an alliance that will benefit our position at court. It has been a very long time since our family has possessed a crest, and our status fell drastically the longer we went without one.” Guillaume paused and watched me like a cat. “To that end, I believe it is imperative that you go to Fhirdiad and become known as a daughter of House Dominic.”

My heart soared for a brief moment. This is what I had always wanted. Still, my joy was short-lived as more pragmatic concerns crowded my thoughts. “Was that not the purpose of adopting me from my father?”

“That is true from a legal perspective,” he conceded. “But it means nothing when no one has ever seen you. It will be a lot of work to arrange an appropriate marriage for you.”

“I thought I wasn’t wanted at court,” I replied cautiously. “Father made that quite clear.”

“I’m not sending you to court.” Guillaume smiled, showing his teeth. I sat back straighter in my chair. “You’ll be going to the Royal School of Sorcery.”

My jaw hung open. The Royal School of Sorcery! The place I had longed to go ever since I was old enough to understand the allure of it. I imagined rooms full of scrolls and grand halls in which to study. My tutor has spoken of the practice ranges where students of every discipline gathered to practice their skills with blade, or lance, or axe, or magic. I would learn how to truly master my magic and, even more than that, I could practice with others who shared my talent. Perhaps there would also be other crest-bearers there who could help me understand my own. Despite my wariness, I felt pure joy bubble up inside my chest.

“You will need to pass the entrance exam in order to enroll due to your age,” Guillaume went on. “Assuming you pass—which I expect that you will—you will begin your studies at the earliest possible time.”

I knew my uncle’s gambit was not about affording me an opportunity to further my own knowledge, but I feared jeopardizing my only chance to leave this estate by questioning his motives any further. Instead, I nodded enthusiastically and said, “Of course, Uncle, I will. Thank you.”

For the next several months, I studied all manner of history, magic, arithmetic, literature, and whatever other assorted subjects my tutor thought likely to appear on the test. Rumor indicated that the exam was designed to be extremely difficult so that only the brightest students would succeed since anyone seeking to enter the school at such a late age would be severely behind the rest of their class. I was relieved to know that the exam did not consist of a practical portion as I was not confident that my magical skills were stable enough for proper testing. Nonetheless, I did not abandon my own experiments with magic and, despite a few mishaps involving uprooted saplings and a torn-up old shed, I thought that I was making progress.

I tried not to allow daydreams of finding my father and repairing our relationship distract me from preparing for the exam, but it was not easy. The material was dry, and as much as I enjoyed learning, even I was not immune to boredom. It was at those times that his face would intrude on my thoughts and I imagined throwing my arms around him as he told me how sorry he was for walking out of my life. Sometimes we stood in the middle of the street as snow swirled around us, and other times we stood outside the gates of the palace or the Royal School of Sorcery. To me, it hardly mattered where we stood, so long as we were together. I wondered if my uncle had told him I was applying to the Royal School of Sorcery and how my father had reacted to that news. I tried not to dwell on that.

My tutor proctored my exam during one of our usual lessons on a windy morning in Wyvern Moon. If not for the pressure I could feel weighing over me, the exam would not have felt all that much different from any I had written in the past. It was longer than I any single test I had written before, but the structure of it was familiar and I felt my nerves begin to ease slightly as I worked through each question. That is not to say that it was easy—quite the opposite, in fact. The questions were deliberately tricky to understand and they delved deeply into complex topics of which I felt I had only the barest understanding. I lost track of the hours I spent at my desk and how many times I had to sharpen the point of my quill.

When it was finally done, I exhaled a slow sigh of relief before I allowed myself to begin agonizing about the results. My tutor advised against trying to go through my study notes to find out what questions I had answered incorrectly, saying that I would never remember them clearly enough to know for certain, but I ignored his advice like any student and did it anyway. As he predicted, my mind was far too tired to recall enough of the questions I was unsure about during the test to truly know how well I had done. I dwelled on this for several days following the exam before the feeling finally began to subside as I resigned myself to await the official results.

My cousins and my aunt arrived two weeks after my exam to stay in the estate with my uncle with the intention of beginning early preparations for Yuletide festivities. If they knew that I had applied for acceptance at the Royal School of Sorcery—which I am sure they did—none of them approached me about it. Both of my cousins had spent a short period of time at the Royal School of Combat, but I suspected they were not particularly studious and had left once my uncle deemed their skill with a blade sufficient. I was determined not to follow in their footsteps; I intended to spend as much time at the campus as I possibly could before my uncle arranged a marriage for me. If I was lucky, I would be able to escape his control with my father’s help.

I avoided my extended family with ease as they had little interest in me. I spent the month sequestered in my bedchamber poring over my study notes and trying to puzzle out where I went wrong on the exam. When I was not agonizing over the results of my exam, I bundled up in a warm cloak and went out into the grounds to try and harness the power of my magic and direct the wind to flow where I willed it. It seemed easier than before, and I chalked that up to my constant practice rather than the simple fact that the wind was more frequent as winter drew closer.

The first snowfall came in early Red Wolf Moon and with it came fears of the bone chill. The illness usually spread quickly in the early winter months as people adjusted to the change in the weather, and travel generally ground to a standstill until spring. Few people wished to expose themselves to the illness. We had not yet had a case of it at the Dominic estate since I had been brought here—for which I frequently heard my aunt thank the Goddess given that I had been exposed to it for so long as a child before I arrived here—and for that, I was grateful. The image of my mother’s sunken eyes and bony hands was still too vivid in my mind, and I did not wish to see anyone else suffer in the same way.

“There must be a way to cure it,” I murmured to myself one blustery night. I sat curled before the fireplace in my bedchamber in a thick white blanket as I pondered the thought.

I fell asleep there as my thoughts swirled like the falling snow.

\---

It was not until the very end of Red Wolf Moon that my tutor announced he had received my exam results from the School of Sorcery. I almost fell out of my chair in surprise and he laughed jovially as I scrambled to right myself.

“Well?” I demanded, slamming my palms against the table with unnecessary force. “Did I pass?”

His eyes twinkled mischievously as he set a letter in front of me. I snatched it up and scanned it even as he said, “Go ahead and find out for yourself.”

“I passed,” I whispered in wonder. My lips split into a wide smile. “I passed! I’m really going to the Royal School of Sorcery!”

“You passed with over eighty percent,” he said proudly. “You should know that that is an extremely strong score and many people who write these tests barely achieve the passing score of seventy percent.”

I hardly heard what more he said after that—whether he extolled my success or berated me for my failures, I have no idea. My mind was so far distant from the moment that I did not care what he or anyone else thought of me. I was going to the Royal School of Sorcery and from there, I would find my father and convince him to allow me to live in Fhirdiad with him. I needed to arrange my plans for bringing him back into my life and I did not want to waste a single second. I had no expectation that this would be a simple venture. None of my experiences with him implied he would acquiesce easily to my demands, but I was determined to try.

The new school semester was to begin early in the new year, and my acceptance letter requested that I arrive by the fourth day of Guardian Moon to ensure there was ample time for me to settle into my dormitory lodgings and obtain my school uniform. I spent the entirety of Ethereal Moon packing and re-packing my trunk with my possessions, few as they were. I included two cloaks, one in Dominic gray with our crest stitched into it and the other of sturdy brown wool that was not fancy but extremely warm. I chose my best clothes, carefully stowing them with my toiletries and the copious notes I had studied for so many years.

Last of all, I took my mother’s harp and gently set it into the trunk. I had barely used it since arriving at the Dominic estate, and nor was I a particularly adept player, but it was special to me and leaving it behind would have felt like a betrayal. It was as though I were taking it home to where we both belonged.

Yuletide was supposed to be a time of celebration and honour to the Goddess for blessing her children with a year of wondrous gifts and preparing to ring in a new year of continued blessings. Even the poorest families would share at least a small meal and sing carols of her deeds and her love for us, her children. Homes and villages were decorated with evergreen boughs and holly, and roaring fires blazed for twelve days and nights until the new year arrived. Families came together to spread joy and lovers renewed their vows of love under the stars. When I lived with my mother, we would venture to the main square at the heart of Fhirdiad to join the citizens in a joyful dance around a huge evergreen tree that was said to mimic the same festivities within the palace grounds themselves. We would eat hot buns stuffed with meat and gravy and dance again until the bell tower sounded midnight.

None of these things occurred at the Dominic residence. Part of it was due to the potential spread of bone chill. It was a risk in Fhirdiad, especially in more recent years, for people to gather as they used to in celebration, but many did so anyway because they could not bear the isolation that fear and pragmatism demanded of them. In a rural estate such as this, such fears were heeded more closely because one case of the illness could destroy an entire household or village. Within our own family, we celebrated only with a meal and conversation. The only thing that set Yuletide apart from any other night of the year were the decorations my aunt had spent weeks preparing.

I was not sorry to don my travelling boots and my gray Dominic cloak for the journey to Fhirdiad. It would take four days to arrive in the city if we travelled quickly and encountered no delays on the road. My uncle opted not to accompany me and sent Jérôme in his place as an escort and to ensure our payment was processed promptly. I was, after all, an important commodity for him and he dared not risk anything happening to me that might besmirch the Dominic name before I even arrived at my destination.

Snow fell ceaselessly as we travelled, blanketing the world in a pristine white carpet. I saw deer from the window of our carriage and little rabbits leaving their tracks across the snow. Once I even saw a pegasus gliding high above us, mirroring our path in the air as it headed in the direction of Fhirdiad. I wondered what it was like to ride a pegasus and spent part of the journey daydreaming of the wind flowing through my hair as we flew high above the world, free of the lies and bonds that chained me to my uncle.

We spent our nights in modest inns along the road that sparked my sense of adventure. There were not many travellers at this time of year and the minstrels who entertained us at dinner were mediocre at best. Many wore tattered clothing that betrayed their poverty and I deduced that they could simply not afford to pass the entire winter without an income. Nevertheless, Jérôme eyed them with profound distrust and bade me lock my door as soon as we retired. He set one of our house guards to stand watch throughout the night which, in my immense wisdom, I considered quite unnecessary. I thought myself quite worldly despite my lack of experience travelling across the countryside and perfectly capable of defending myself, and both claims were distinctly untrue.

The city of Fhirdiad, jewel of the north, sprawled before us upon the horizon by noon on our fourth day of travel. I had been too young when I left to truly recall the size of it, so I was properly awed as we approached the heavy iron gates. They were shut tightly, and we were forced to join the end of the queue of travellers seeking entrance into the city.

“Will they let us in?” I asked Jérôme nervously as a merchant family was turned away ahead of us.

“Yes,” he replied with a serene smile. He drew back his cloak and pulled a folded parchment from an inner pocket. “The admissions’ clerk sent us an approved directive for entry into the city. It was signed by the First Scholar herself.”

“I see,” I replied. The seal of the royal House Blaiddyd flanked by the intertwined symbols of Reason and Faith was boldly imprinted in blue ink at the bottom. The First Scholar’s signature sat below it in swooping calligraphy that I could barely read.

Our carriage lurched forward through the snow and mud until we reached the guards standing at the gates. A broad chested man tapped on the window and studied us both suspiciously. The uneasy smile faded from my expression in the face of his cold stare.

“State your business.”

Jérôme, ever gracious, offered the guard a polite tip of his hat and proffered the folded letter. “Good evening, sir. We are on the way to the Royal School of Sorcery as indicated in this letter from the First Scholar.”

The man peered at it for several long minutes. I began to wonder if he was struggling to make out the embellished signature or if his reading skills were not as advanced as my own. For his part, Jérôme sat patiently, as though this was something he experienced on a regular basis. Perhaps it was; the steward had probably seen much more of the world than I had in my sixteen years, and he often went to Fhirdiad on Dominic business when my uncle could not. Finally, after what felt like an eon, the guard handed the parchment back and nodded gruffly.

“All looks to be in order. His Majesty has ordered that no visitors remain overnight in the city and all must depart as soon as their business is concluded.” He glanced at me. “The young lady is exempted, of course, however I must respectfully ask you, sir, not to linger and to report back to this gate upon your departure.”

“Of course,” Jérôme smiled genially and tipped his hat once more. I remembered my manners this time and bobbed as much of a curtsy as is possible when you are sitting in a cramped carriage. The iron gates swung open with a loud creak and with that, we entered the home of my childhood.

“The bone chill must be spreading quickly if there is a curfew on the visitors who are granted entrance into the city,” I murmured, clutching my cloak between my bare fingers and trying to suppress the memory of my mother’s diseased body.

“It requires only two things to thrive,” Jérôme said quietly. He took my hands and squeezed them gently. “Winter and many people gathered in a single place.”

“Surely there is a way to cure it.”

“They say there is a cure for everything,” the steward agreed. “The only trouble is discovering it. That is a feat no one has managed to do in all these years since it has ravaged our land. Instead, we have learned to live in fear of it.”

We rode in a solemn silence through the mostly deserted streets as the sun fell quickly below the horizon, the buildings casting long shadows that felt foreboding and dangerous. I wanted to believe I remembered my way through each meandering road in Fhirdiad and that I could find each haven I had loved as a child, but the truth was undeniable: I had been gone too long to know my way around any longer. The city itself had changed as well, with new districts in places where I swore there had been nothing but wild grassy parks or abandoned buildings. It was entirely possible that my own haunts no longer existed. As I watched the lower city slip by while we made our way closer to our destination, I vowed to search for what remained of my childhood as soon as it was possible to do so. I rather doubted the school would allow me to venture out on my own business while the bone chill was devastating the city.

The Royal Campus was located in the upper district of Fhirdiad very close to the palace. The Scholar Queen Béatrix had commissioned its creation hundreds of years ago and furnished it with her own personal collection of scrolls. Although other rulers had added to it over the years, it was her vision that was praised by historians. No other school in Fódlan—with the notable exception of the monastery Garreg Mach—could match its prestige in the art of magic or combat. My skin itched with anticipation as its towers rose above the wealthy residential area just down the hill from the royal palace itself. Here the streets were kept quite clear of snow and evergreen boughs with little silver bells and red ribbons still adorned the thresholds of many large villas. There was more activity here as other carriages passed us and a few bundled pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks waving greetings to other passersby.

I was surprised to see the gates of the campus thrown wide even before we approached but I was too entranced by the sight of the school’s fabled white walls to register anything particularly odd about it. We rode into the entrance courtyard which was dominated by a huge snow-covered marble fountain that would undoubtably impress any visitor during the height of summer. I pressed my cheek against the cold glass window and watched the passengers in the carriage ahead of us descend from the vehicle. If they had brought any luggage, none of them bothered to retrieve it. Two boys with hair like the deepest night stood together waiting for their companions, one scowling and the other laughing so heartily I could faintly hear his mirth through the door. I was certain they were brothers.

We waited for what felt like an eternity before the third passenger finally sauntered out of the carriage to join them. He seemed as merry as the taller brother did, slinging his arm around both of them and tapping his foot genially in the snow. I felt my own impatience growing at this delay but when I glanced at Jérôme to see if he shared my feelings, I realized he was dozing quietly. Biting my tongue, I turned my attention back to the boys ahead of us. A tall, lanky blond man had joined them and was waving their carriage away. Without a backward glance, he led the way up the stairs into the school, flanked by the tallest of his friends. The scowling boy spared one glance at our little carriage, his right hand hidden in the depths of his cloak, and I felt one distinct moment of connection with him as our gazes met through the glass and gently falling snow. Abruptly he turned away from me and disappeared after his friends.

When I finally stepped out into the imprinted snow they had trampled, my excitement for my new life was tempered with an insatiable curiosity for something I could not name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much happened in this chapter that I hardly know where to begin! Suffice to say it was fun to write, but it's been even more exciting writing what comes next. It's also conveniently seasonally appropriate since Christmas has just passed and for Annette, so has Yuletide and the new year :) I hope you all had a safe and joyful holiday, and that the new year will bring happier times to us all.
> 
> Some familiar faces are due to show up in the next chapter, so I am hoping to post it next weekend around new year's, and from then on out, all bets are off as to when the next chapter will be ready :) 
> 
> Thank you always for reading. I truly value your support and I hope you enjoy the surprises to come <3
> 
> Love, Kami


	4. Friends and Villains

“No one picks a friend for us; we come together by choice. We are not tied together through ceremony or the responsibility to create a son; we tie ourselves together through moments. The spark when we first meet. Laughter and tears shared. Secrets packed away to be treasured, hoarded, and protected. The wonder that someone can be so different from you and yet still understand your heart in a way no one else will.”

― Lisa See, _The Island of Sea Women_

\---

By the time we entered the building, the scowling boy and his friends were nowhere in sight. The vestibule was panelled with thick, dark wood and a rather ostentatious chandelier that sparkled as though someone had only just polished it. Tall vases of fresh evergreen branches and decorative pinecones stood on either side of the door directly across from where we entered. Two attendants stood waiting to greet us and Jérôme, still slightly disoriented from his short nap in the carriage, fumbled in his pockets for several minutes before he produced the writ that granted us entrance to the Royal Campus. Yet they were nothing short of exceedingly polite while we followed them down the hall.

We were brought to a room where several women sat at heavy desks stacked high with papers and gutted candles. Some wore robes of midnight blue and others wore deep red, each belted with a golden sash. A few people glanced up curiously from their work as we passed, but our guides continued until we reached the old woman sitting at the farthest end of the room. She had iron gray hair tied in a perfect knot behind her head and spectacles that sat so far down her nose I was afraid they would slip right off. Her robe was a red one and I was immediately wary of her sharp gaze when she looked up.

“What is it now?” she grumbled, glaring at each of us in turn. “Not another complaint of incompatible roommates, I hope! I have enough to do without sorting out such petty problems.”

“No, Madame Registrar,” the taller of our two guides replied evenly. The other poorly hid a cheeky grin beneath a sudden coughing fit. “There is a new student here to see you.”

The woman mumbled something under her breath and shuffled several papers around on her desk. She barely glanced at me and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Can’t you two louts see that I am busy? Get one of the other girls here to deal with whatever complaint she has.”

“No, no,” the attendant interrupted before I could think of a response. “Madame Registrar, she is a new student starting this semester. Here is the letter from the First Scholar.”

The woman snatched it out of his hands even before the words were out of his mouth. I glanced at Jérôme out of the corner of my eye, but he looked perfectly at ease. In fact, the smile curling his lips looked faintly amused.

“A new student?” she peered more closely at me and snorted. “You look a bit old to be a new student.”

“I passed the entrance exam!” I exclaimed indignantly. Almost immediately, I regretted my poor manners, but the woman seemed unperturbed.

“Is that so? Oh, very well, then, very well! You—” she pointed at the attendant who had laughed, “—go and see the girl’s things are delivered to room four in the Daffodil House. It’s the only one with an open space. I suppose that since Lucille isn’t here again, I’ll have to get her signed in. What’s your name, girl?”

“My name?” I squeaked as she turned her attention to me. She nodded impatiently but when I opened my mouth, no words came out. The last time I lived in Fhirdiad, I was a Lacroix. It was a name I loved for I shared it with my mother. No one at my uncle’s estate ever called me by my father’s name for I had always been merely “Miss Annette” to them. It felt oddly clunky on my tongue. Yet it was my father’s name and now it was also mine. After all, my mother was long dead, and her name carried no weight in the world. It was a common name, and although I cherished it, I could not help but feel that it was a large part of what separated me from my father. 

I could feel several pairs of eyes on me while I hesitated over the deceptively simple question. My fingers curled against my palms and I raised my chin so that I looked directly at the woman behind the desk.

“I am Annette Fantine Dominic.”

“Dominic…” she muttered, unaware of the rush of emotions that flooded through my mind now that the words were spoken aloud. It felt as though I had cast a spell over myself that no one else could perceive. She dragged a bony finger down a list in front of her and adjusted her precariously placed spectacles absently. “Dominic…ah yes, there you are. Passed the entrance exam, did you? Not bad at all. A shame you’re going into the School of Sorcery.”

“The letter from the First Scholar said she achieved a scholarship for her achievement on the exam,” Jérôme said briskly. He stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps we can arrange the remaining payment first?”

While Jérôme and the registrar discussed the payment and ensured my personal information was noted correctly in the school register, the remaining attendant took me to another room in the reception building where I could find spare uniforms in my size. My tuition included several of my own uniforms which would be delivered to my dormitory once they were ready, but until that time, I was given two spare sets that the school kept on hand for newcomers like myself. He took my measurements efficiently and pointed me to a rack of outfits in the same dark blue I had seen some of the staff wearing.

I was slightly disappointed to see that they were less ornate than those that the staff wore, but the fabric was soft to the touch and the tailoring was clearly of good quality. The pleated skirt fell past my knees and the arms of the blazer were a little too long for my height, but it fit snugly over my plain blouse. Little silver buttons secured the blazer in place over my chest with the crest of the Royal School of Sorcery embroidered neatly over my heart. I had never felt so proud of how I looked.

Satisfied with my selections, we traipsed back to the main room where Jérôme and the registrar were finalizing my expenses. He grinned at me and I flushed with pleasure, and then I twirled once so he could see the full effect of the skirt.

“Oh, very good, Miss Annette!” he said jovially, his green eyes twinkling. “If only your mother could see you now! She would be so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Would my father be equally as proud? Jérôme never spoke of him if it could be avoided, and from what I had overheard in a garden so long ago, I somewhat doubted it.

“Yes, yes, blue really is your colour, I suppose,” the registrar grumbled as she shoved a folded parchment at me. “Red would really set off your hair though, such a shame you’re not joining the School of Combat.” She glared at me as if I had somehow disappointed her and then went on, saying, “That is your class schedule. I trust you already obtained your schoolbooks and supplies?”

“Yes, Madame Registrar.”

“Good. You should take time to tour the grounds and familiarize yourself with the layout. Most sorcery students spend an inordinate amount of time in the library, so you’ll want to know where that is. I’m sure your roommate will be able to help you find your way around.”

A roommate! I felt a twinge of excitement at the prospect of meeting someone who had no prior connection with me and who had no knowledge of my past.

“Do you have any questions?” the registrar asked in a tone that made it clear she hoped I did not.

“No,” I replied quickly. “Thank you so much for your time, Madame Registrar.”

“Off you go then. I’ve enough things to do today!” she barked, though she looked quite mollified.

With that unceremonious dismissal, the attendant beckoned us back down the hall from which we had entered. I read my schedule eagerly as we walked. Three days of my week were filled with Reason classes from morning through to early evening. The other two days were devoted to the study and application of Faith magic, and to my great relief, they included several blocks of free study time. My weekends were open, but I was already planning on spending as much of my free time as possible ensuring my knowledge would not lag behind that of my peers. I longed to visit the city as well, of course, but I knew I had to be dedicated to my studies in order to make the most of my limited time at the Royal School of Sorcery. That would have to take precedence over my own frivolous desires.

The sky had darkened considerably during our time in the Registrar’s Hall. My trunks had been removed from my uncle’s carriage and hauled away. To my left, Jérôme sighed deeply and turned slowly to face me, his expression a mixture of pride and sorrow. I felt like I stood of the edge of a dark forest without a torch to light the path that now stretched before me. Ever since my uncle had plucked me from my mother’s house, the aging steward had always been there for me. He had shown me kindness and love that was reminiscent of my mother and I treasured that. In a home where I was always out of place, he was my rock. A childish part of me wanted to cling to him and beg him to stay with me.

I knew that was not possible. After all, I was no longer a child.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then,” I said to him regretfully.

“For now, yes, but not forever. You will be able to visit during school breaks, of course.” Jérôme smiled kindly at me and drew me into a warm hug. “You will be fine, Miss Annette. Study hard and do your mother proud.”

“I will.”

“Send a bird if you need anything at all,” he said, releasing me and climbing stiffly into the carriage. “I will see to it that Lord Dominic provides for you appropriately during your time here.”

“Thank you, Jérôme,” I whispered as the door clanged shut. “Thank you for everything.”

\---

Daffodil House was as bright as its name suggested. It sat in a long row of dormitories that were each named for a different flower, but it was the only one with a tiny row of bushes planted under the windows. Although the curtains were drawn against the night, I could see the faint glow of a candle lighting the room beyond. My guide stepped right up to the door and knocked politely to announce our arrival and opened the door without waiting for anyone to greet us. I followed him inside and shook off the hood of my cloak. We stood in an open common room with a pair of well used couches and matching armchairs around a rather battered coffee table. There was a small fire crackling merrily on the hearth casting a warm glow across the room that was reminiscent of my bedchamber back the Dominic estate. I felt instantly at home in this cozy dormitory.

“You’re in room four,” the guide told me, pointing up the stairs to my right. “If you have need of anything, please visit the registrar’s office in the morning.”

Left alone, I glanced around the common room again and took note of the layout. Two doors were shut on the left side and one stood open directly across from where I stood. A garland bough looped around the railing that led to the upper floor. The smell of fresh baking permeated the little house. I shrugged out of my cloak, hung it on one of the hooks beside the entrance and set my boots neatly below it. The house seemed oddly quiet but there was at least one other person here. The only other cloak was both plain and practical, and evidentially it had been hanging there for some time. With only a moment’s hesitation, I climbed the stairs.

The upper floor was merely one hallway with a single door on either side. The door on the left wall was shut tightly and no light spilled out from beneath it, so I judged it likely that there was no one inside. There was a brass number three nailed to the centre of it which meant my room had to be the one on the other side. The door on the right stood ajar. The occupant of the room had hung a pretty Yuletide wreath with the words _May the Goddess Bless You_ across the centre of it. The number four was barely visible beneath the wreath and I felt a wave of nerves as I raised my hand to knock.

A pretty young woman with very long, blonde hair pulled it open before I could tap my knuckles against the wood. She was wearing a thick lavender dressing gown with matching fuzzy slippers. I stood awkwardly for a moment with my fist still poised to knock.

“Hello!” she said brightly. “I heard you coming up the stairs. You must be my new roommate. It’s so lovely to meet you! I’m Mercedes.”

She held out her hand and I shook it firmly.

“Likewise,” I told her, smiling. “My name is Annette. I’m sorry to intrude so late.”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Mercedes laughed and pulled me inside. “Your trunk arrived earlier, but I know it takes time to get signed in when you’re new. Did you have to travel far to get here?”

“That’s right,” I agreed. The room was much smaller than my bedchamber back at the estate but the coziness of it reminded me of the room I slept in as a child. There was a narrow bed pushed against the wall on both sides of the room and a curtained window on the wall between them. Beneath that were two matching desks, the wood worn smooth with consistent use over the years, and chairs with striped cushions. My trunk was pushed against the foot of the bed on the left side of the room. Two rows of shelves—no doubt meant for my schoolbooks—were nailed to the wall by my bed. “I came from Dominic, which is on the edge of Mateus lands.”

“That is quite the distance,” she agreed sympathetically. Mercedes picked up a tray from her desk and offered it to me. “I baked fresh cookies earlier. Would you like one?”

“I’d love one!” I grinned and plucked one from the tray. It was delightfully sweet. “Is there a kitchen in this house?”

“Oh, heavens no! I went to the dining hall to make these. These dormitories are much too small for a kitchen. Not to mention there would likely be a lot of fires from unattended ovens!” she laughed, and I had the impression she laughed both often and easily. We had only just met, but I already liked my roommate very much. “Even the fireplaces have posed hazards to some particularly oblivious students.”

I recalled a time I had fallen asleep in one of the parlors at my uncle’s home with a lit candle sitting rather more near to the edge of the table than it ought to have been. The maid who had found me asleep with my elbow poised to knock it over scolded me harshly for such carelessness. I did not doubt that many students were as oblivious as Mercedes claimed and merely hoped that I would not prove to be one of them.

“Have you attended the School of Sorcery for a long time?” I asked Mercedes. There was a shared wardrobe by the entrance to our room, so I opened it to judge how much space I had to store my clothes. I need not have worried.

“Not really. I’ve only been attending classes here for four years.” She paused while I hung my borrowed uniforms and unlatched my trunk. “I spent some time working in a church with the poor in a remote village before I came here. The pastor there convinced me to write the exam to enter this school so that I could better develop my talents.”

“Truly?” I asked. I took care to smooth the wrinkles out of my folded dresses before I hung them in the wardrobe. “I had the impression most students were enrolled as children and simply continued with their education.”

Mercedes nodded sagely and chewed one of her cookies thoughtfully while I unpacked my trunk. “That’s true, to an extent at least. The tuition is expensive, so only wealthy families continue to enroll their children here after their formative years in private tutelage. Since they are taught by scholars from the Royal Campus, they can bypass the entrance exam. What’s that?”

She pointed to the old harp case that I had set on my bed while I pulled out the last of my clothing. I took a moment to arrange them in the wardrobe before I answered. “It’s a harp. My mother gave it to me before she passed away.”

“Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry,” Mercedes murmured. “Do you play it often?”

“No.” I sat on the bed and unbuckled the flap. The wood was as smooth as I remembered, and the leaping fish brought back all the memories of my mother’s fingers flying across the strings with a grace I had never tried to master. “Truthfully, I haven’t played it much since she died.”

“That’s too bad,” she said softly. “It’s a lovely instrument.”

I nodded mutely. Gently, I plucked a string and winced at the sound it made. The lyre had sat unused in my bedchamber for years because the very thought of playing it made me long to hear my mother’s voice again. “I might be able to teach myself how to play it again if I can tune it properly. I do remember some of the silly songs my mother used to sing while she played it.”

“How wonderful!” Mercedes clapped her hands together. “I’m sure there is a book in the library that would help you. If we can’t find one, I’m sure there’s other students who have some musical inclination who could show you.”

It was kind of her to suggest it. I smiled and nodded.

“I would like that.”

\---

Mercedes was my very first friend, and I recognized that I was lucky to have met her.

I had befriended the children of the serving folk who lived on my uncle’s estate, but there was always a fundamental divide between us. I might have been the black sheep of my family, but the servants were still socially lower than I, and each of them took up the trade of their parents when they reached the appropriate age. Inevitably, we drifted apart as my friends amongst them took on the responsibilities of running a successful household while I delved deeper into my studies of magic and history. I remembered them all fondly, and I missed the playtime we shared as children, but it was a short-lived period in my life, and I knew even then that such tenuous friendships were destined to fail. Thus, my loneliness was always at the forefront of my experiences.

That made my friendship with Mercedes my most treasured possession. She did not know of my past and she never asked me anything she would not be willing to answer in turn. If I hesitated to reply, she would take my hand and squeeze my fingers comfortingly, saying “It’s all right if you don’t want to say anything, Annie. I would never expect more from you than you are willing to give.”

She was in the habit of visiting the chapel on the campus grounds every morning for dawn prayers and I joined for as much for the comfort of the Goddess as I did to prove I would be a true friend to her. After all, I was not unaccustomed to rising by dawn; I hated to waste my day abed when I could use the quiet time to study or practice my magic before my uncle awoke. I offered a prayer of gratitude to the Goddess for blessing me with such a kind and lovely a roommate as Mercedes, and I begged Her to keep the souls of whom I loved safe in Her care.

With our prayers concluded, Mercedes took me around the campus. We stopped first at the dining hall which was halfway between the Royal School of Sorcery and the Royal School of Combat. Here, students from both streams of study could mingle over a shared meal.

“This is where I made those cookies,” she told me proudly. “The staff are very gracious here, and they always welcome a bit of extra help when I can spare it. In turn, they allow me to use the kitchen in the evenings to bake sweet treats.”

The hall was mostly empty that morning as many students had not yet arrived for the new school year. There was a cluster of people sitting at the far end of one of the long tables and no more than a dozen other individual students with morning meals in the entire room. I spotted only one student—a girl with hair like gold braided over her shoulder—sitting in a red School of Combat uniform. I broke my fast with Mercedes over warm buttered buns, sizzling sausages and fresh eggs. It was one of the most memorable meals I have ever shared with another person.

With our bellies full and our spirits satisfied, we wrapped our scarves tightly around our faces and braved the biting wind for a tour of the grounds. They were grander than I had anticipated. The left side of the campus was devoted to the study of magic and other arcane arts. There were two main buildings where classes were held. The aptly named Hall of Saint Cethleann, the patron saint of healers and the clergy of Seiros, was where my classes on Faith magic would occur. It was two floors and built of beautiful white stone with a pair of statues of the saint herself on either side of the entrance.

“It looks like we will share some classes!” Mercedes exclaimed delightedly I struggled to hold the parchment flat enough to read in the sharp wind.

“I’m not particularly well-versed in the application of healing,” I admitted. “I’ve spent some time studying the theory, but I’ve never had an opportunity to actually try it.”

“That’s for the better,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Like all magic, healing can be deadly if it isn’t properly trained. Don’t worry, I’ll help you with anything you don’t understand and then you’ll be a pro in no time!”

We moved down the path to another building of white stone. It was wider than the previous hall and stood three floors high, and the entrance was flanked by statues two ancient warlocks. They stood facing each other so that their outstretched arms formed a kind of archway over the door.

“This the Hall of Saint Macuil,” Mercedes announced. “Reason classes are typically held here. My own talents are not suited for this kind of magic, though all sorcery students learn control of the basic elements for their own safety. I can light a hearth fire or a candle, and that’s about it!”

We laughed together, the sound muffled through our scarves and then continued onward. Snow-covered gardens branched off the main road and my friend explained that sometimes students would gather on the benches in the summertime to study together outdoors. We passed a greenhouse which, I was given to understand, was mainly used by the cooking staff and some of the more eccentric scholars whose research dipped into alchemy. It was not considered out-of-bounds, but Mercedes assured me that students had little cause to venture inside.

The library stood at the end of the winding path surrounded by immaculately trimmed hedges and flanked by several of immensely tall snow-covered trees whose branches looked majestic even without their leaves. Mercedes pulled me inside, her hand clasped tightly around mine, and swept her free arm in a wide gesture of welcome.

“The library!” she announced.

“It’s…amazing,” I breathed. I stepped forward slowly, my eyes roving the room to absorb every detail. I had never seen so many books gathered in a single place. Guillaume’s study paled in comparison to the trove of knowledge in which I found myself. It was easily three floors of shelves crammed with scrolls and books on all manner of topics. Each floor was interspersed with tables of various sizes and individual study carrels. I saw robed scholars sitting quietly amongst piles of books and students preparing for the start of the new school year. I longed to browse the shelves and see what knowledge the library held that I had never encountered in my own self-driven studies.

Mercedes had intended to show me the School of Combat as well, but I was so entranced with the library that we spent the rest of the morning sitting together at a table with more scrolls and books spread out before us than I had ever had at a single time. That my father would be displeased at my presence here in Fhirdiad seemed even more bizarre now that I saw what I had been missing out on while my tutor attempted to teach me as much as I would need to know not to embarrass myself in polite society. Our studies together barely scratched the surface of what I could learn at the Royal School of Sorcery.

I knew then that this was where I belonged.

\---

Despite my impressive score on the entrance exam, I was sorely unprepared for the jump from private tutelage to organized education. I learned quickly that a standardized test was a different beast altogether than the expectations that the instructors at the Royal School of Sorcery had of their students both new and old. I was treated as though I had been attending classes there all my life, and it was my responsibility to ensure I caught up with the coursework. My first month of classes passed in a blur as I attempted to take detailed notes on subjects that I barely understood and where all my classmates were years ahead of me in their studies. I will not deny it was a difficult time, but I cannot pretend I did not thrive on the challenge. I was determined to prove myself to those around me and earn my place among the brightest minds of my generation.

Mercedes was as good as her word as far as my Faith studies were concerned. We sat long into the night poring over notes I had taken and comparing them to ones she had kept from previous years. Wherever I missed a key point, she took her quill and added clarifications into the margins of my parchment. She was a patient teacher, repeating basic concepts that every other student knew by heart until I, too, could claim comprehension.

“I went through a phase like this as well,” she confided in me late one evening. The fire had burned low on the hearth and shadows filled the corner of the common room. She smiled as though we shared a secret and patted my hand reassuringly. “You’ll get through this, and soon you’ll have no trouble keeping up.”

By the end of Pegasus Moon, I felt more comfortable in my Faith classes and the topics we discussed became less alien to me. The theory of such magic was altogether unlike anything I had ever studied before, and I don’t doubt that an individual with less piety would have struggled much more than I did. Although I did not have an opportunity to practice the practical application of such skills just yet, I was sure that with my friend to guide me, I would pick it up without much difficulty. Unfortunately, the same did not apply to my other classes.

I arrived in my Theory of Reason class bright and early on the first day of the school year with my schoolbag slung over one shoulder and a buzz of nervous excitement crackling through my veins. Students sat at long rows of desks, many yawning as they exchanged Yuletide greetings with friends and classmates. Mercedes was not enrolled in any reason classes, claiming her aptitude for the subject was not particularly impressive and that she had no great interest in combat magic when she could use her talents for the betterment of all. Although I understood her reasoning, I missed her serene presence.

Nonetheless, I strode in confidently, casting smiles to anyone who caught my eye and receiving polite acknowledgements in return. There was an open seat at the front of the room beside a girl with thick brown hair who was already bent low over her textbook and I decided to make a beeline toward her. I smiled at her and gripped my bag tighter when she flashed me a rather sour look in return.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked brightly.

The girl stared at me as if I had suddenly sprouted another head.

“No.”

“Do you mind if I sit here?” When she shook her head, I dropped my bag to the floor by my feet and began unpacking my notebook and quills. “Thank you. My name is Annette, and I’m new to the School of Sorcery. What’s your name?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” The girl said rather bluntly. “I’m Lysithea.”

“Nice to meet you!” I set my copy of the textbook on the desk and fiddled awkwardly with my quill. I scrambled for something to continue our admittedly strained conversation. “Did you have a good Yuletide holiday?”

Lysithea glanced at me, her eyes sharp and calculating. I felt suddenly rather foolish, asking something like that to someone I had only just met. Did she think me odd? Embarrassed, I dropped my gaze down into my lap and smoothed my borrowed skirt over my knees.

“It was all right,” she said after a pause. She hesitated, looking at me intently and added with poorly concealed curiosity, “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I’m trying to…” my voice faltered as I considered how best to approach the subject. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to admit I was here to find my father and force him to accept me into his life. I didn’t want to look desperate or out of place amongst students of such well-bred society. I imagined how Lysithea might think me odder than she undoubtably already did if I told her my real reason for coming to Fhirdiad. “I wanted to hone my Reason skills, and home tutoring wasn’t enough anymore. So I decided to take the entrance exam to attend the Royal School of Sorcery.”

It wasn’t a lie, even it if wasn’t the whole truth.

“I took the exam for fun, once,” Lysithea told me haughtily. “I heard it was very hard, but I can’t say I saw the challenge in it.”

“You must be very knowledgeable! I found some questions really tricky to answer.”

She smiled proudly—her first real smile since I sat down—and said, “I study very hard, so it wasn’t difficult. If you were homeschooled all this time, you must have studied a lot to pass it. I hear the exam to enter the School of Combat is much simpler—it’s just about hitting your opponent enough times, after all—but prospective students often struggle with the concepts presented in the exam for the School of Sorcery.”

We talked about my experience with the exam until the professor for the class arrived and called for silence. Although my tutor had tried to satisfy my desire to learn Reason magic despite his own lack of magical ability, he was ultimately unable to answer my questions as I delved deeper into the subject. My own self-taught knowledge paled in comparison to Lysithea—and indeed, to that of my other classmates—so much so that I began to worry that I had made a horrible mistake in thinking that I could enter the school and excel in my studies the way I had back home. It became clear very quickly that I was hopelessly out of my depth.

That is not to say that I intended to give up. My feet were already on a long, dark path and I could hardly back out now. I could not bear the thought of returning to my uncle’s home with my tail between my legs and quietly acquiescing to his power over my future. Nor could I allow fear of failure to stand in the way of finding my father and convincing him that we were family, that no matter his own standing in our family, he would always be my father. If only he would acknowledge our undeniable bond, I could accept whatever my uncle decreed for my future for my father’s sake. There was far too much at stake for me to give up so easily.

My notes from my first month of classes were nearly illegible and my fingers were stained with ink so frequently that I feared I might never scrub it all out. When I was not studying late into the night with Mercedes on Faith magic, I pored over my Reason notes by candlelight and tried to make sense of what my instructors taught. I arrived early to class everyday and took my seat beside Lysithea, carefully asking her pointed questions about the assigned reading and proposing my thoughts on the subjects. She was not shy to tell me when I was wrong and if her teaching was less sweet-tempered than what Mercedes offered me, it was no less effective.

As we neared the end of Lone Moon, I fell into a routine of study sessions with my new friends, sometimes as a group and sometimes in pairs. I enjoyed my time with Mercedes and Lysithea, not only because we shared an aptitude for the arcane arts, but also because the three of us were quite fond of sharing sweets during our study sessions. Although Lysithea’s room was in Amaryllis House, she spent many hours in our dormitory offering creative insights into Reason that I had never before considered, and I found my own understanding blossomed quickly as I absorbed the knowledge Lysithea had gained over many years of careful study. It became significantly easier to comprehend the subject matter on my own so that our conversations were not so strictly pedagogic but rather more philosophical.

Yet there remained one area where I had little experience and with time bearing down on me, I had no choice but to seek their assistance in preparation.

“You see,” I explained with a nervous chuckle. “I have done my best to teach myself everything I possibly could before coming here. But my application of Reason magic is…tenuous, at best.”

They both stared at me, Mercedes with an expression as serene as the Goddess and Lysithea with a look of pure incredulity. I smiled uncertainly and spread my hands out in a pleading gesture.

“Have you ever even cast a spell before?” Lysithea demanded.

“Of course!” A silence. “I think so.”

“You don’t even _know?_ ”

“I’m pretty sure I have been able to cast a basic wind spell,” I explained sheepishly. “It was easier when the wind was…you know, blowing.”

“Well of course it would be,” Mercedes interjected before Lysithea could respond. “That’s the best way to practice when you’re starting out.”

I was immensely relieved that Mercedes understood. I smiled at her and her cheeks went rosy with pleasure. Lysithea frowned at me, shaking her thick mane of brown hair in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you managed to pass the entrance exam without knowing if you can really cast anything on your own,” she finally said. “Your foundation of knowledge from your self-study was very strong, and you’re already doing much better with the more advanced concepts we are studying in class.”

“Thank you. I like studying. And I had a lot of time for it back home. But,” I added quickly, “I never knew if I was applying the knowledge correctly. There was no one to correct my mistakes. So you can see my predicament now with our first practical test coming up.”

“We can help you,” Mercedes said immediately. She stood and draped her shawl over her narrow shoulders before either Lysithea or I had moved. “Let’s go to the training grounds right now.”

“Oh, do you really mean it?” I asked. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s not a bother!” she assured me while Lysithea stood and pulled on her cloak. “There’s no time like the present, right?”

“If you’re as quick a study at this as you are in our lessons, I don’t think it will be long before you can cast more than just the basics,” Lysithea muttered. “I still can’t believe you passed without proving you could cast anything.”

I had not yet toured the School of Combat since my classes were all located at the School of Sorcery. There was nothing to stop students from one branch of education from visiting the other’s campus, but there also was little reason to do so. The dining hall was one of the only areas that saw a great mixture of students from both campuses, and even there, most students sat in groups of their classmates rather than mingling with students of the opposite discipline. Apart from the library where School of Combat students occasionally needed to do research for a written assignment, there was nothing to attract them to visit our side of the Royal Campus. Likewise, the only area of the School of Combat that School of Sorcery students had any interest in were the training grounds.

Perhaps it was because my only experience with training grounds was the rather small one back home, but I was awed by the sheer size of those at the School of Combat. A few students loitering idly nearby watched us curiously while Mercedes confidently led us toward the main entrance.

“There’s smaller ones to practice in too,” she explained while we walked. “But you have to book time in them. The main practice areas are much larger and free for anyone to use at any time. They usually lock the doors by the tenth bell in the evening, but they are open by dawn again.”

“Is that so?” I said absently. We stood in the cross path of a long hallway that stretched out to either side of us. Ahead was another set of doors engraved with crossed lances which arched over the crest of House Blaiddyd.

“There’s showers and change rooms down the halls, and entrances to other communal practice grounds.” Mercedes gestured vaguely with her hands as we approached the doors ahead of us.

The practice grounds were much larger than anything I had ever seen before. I saw students in both pairs and groups battling each other with every kind of weapon imaginable. Instructors from the School of Combat oversaw some of the students, but most of them appeared to be engaged in practice on their own time. No one paid us much attention as Mercedes led us to an area that was relatively free of other combatants.

“Stand here,” Lysithea commanded. I did as she said and then she pointed to the training dummy which leaned precariously far to one side about thirty feet away from where we stood. “That’s your target. You want to keep your feet slightly apart and your mind clear.”

I copied her stance and tried to focus on the task at hand. Lysithea walked around me and clicked her tongue critically, adjusting the level of my elbow and insisting that I bring my feet closer together. When she was satisfied with my form, she said “We’ll start with the basic elements first since they are the base of all other spells.”

“Fire, wind, and thunder,” I said automatically. My fingers itched, but whether it was with magic or merely excitement, I wasn’t sure.

“Right. You must master these before you can move on to more complex spells. They are even at the base of dark magic, although most people can’t master the art of those spells.” She grinned wickedly and continued with her lecture. “Let’s start with wind since you said you thought you had been able to cast that before. Recall how the wind feels when it brushes against your skin.”

I did as she instructed and narrowed my eyes at the training dummy.

“Now recall the incantation to summon wind, and trace the sigil in the air. If done correctly, you will feel the buzz of magic, so flick your hand to launch the wind toward your target.”

I had long ago memorized the incantation for each of the three basic spells, but the sigils were harder because they were difficult to trace properly. The wind sigil was particularly tricky because the angles were so precise that the slightest variance would either launch a spell that was far too powerful to control or nothing at all would happen. I didn’t admit it to my friends, but I had often foregone using the sigil entirely when I practiced back home, opting instead to channel as much of concentration into raw power as I could. The texts I had read claimed this was a more difficult approach that only experienced mages should use, but when I continued to struggle with the sigils, I saw no reason not to try an alternative route. Luckily, only a sapling and a couple of scarecrows had suffered for my curiosity.

Nevertheless, I did as Lysithea said and drew the sigil in the air before me with one finger and flicked my hand forward. I felt a slight stirring of feeble wind around my hand, but nothing more than that. The leaning dummy looked almost mocking at my failure.

“It’s not uncommon to fail at first.” Mercedes patted my shoulder sympathetically. “I myself could not even light a candle until my second year here. I failed all of my practical Reason tests.” She laughed at her own struggles and I could not help but giggle with her.

“Try again,” Lysithea interrupted. For someone as small and unassuming as she looked, I was surprised by how menacing she sounded.

After an hour of practice, I only managed to summon a feeble breeze that ruffled Lysithea’s hair and teased the tassels of Mercedes’ shawl. I sighed in frustration though neither of my friends seemed surprised by my lack of success. Still, I was determined to cast the spell properly before we left, even if it was only once. I fell into stance and glared at the dummy as though it was entirely its fault that I could not hit it. As I tried to clear my mind and prepare myself for the magic that felt just out of reach, Mercedes said “Oh, look! His Highness is here now too!”

I’d never seen Prince Dimitri before. In fact, I had never seen any of the royal family before. Despite myself, I dropped my hands and turned to look, my desire to cast a proper spell momentarily sidelined in favour of trivial gossip. A large group of people had entered the grounds, and although a few students turned to stare at the Prince, few stopped what they were doing to watch him. I probably looked like a fool to anyone who noticed me gawking, but such concerns were far from my mind in that moment.

The prince was obvious by the way his retinue flanked him as they walked. He was tall and lanky with hair like spun gold. He held a lance in one hand and draped his other arm around a tall, dark-haired companion with an air of great familiarity. The dark haired man boomed with laughter at something the prince said and threw his head back with genuine mirth. I realized then that I had seen these men before, back when I had first arrived at the Royal Campus. Their carriage had been directly ahead of mine. I felt goosebumps crawling along my arms that had nothing to do with magic.

“It’s him,” I whispered. My hands were shaking with anticipation.

“Oh, you’ve never seen Prince Dimitri before, have you, Annie?” Mercedes asked. “He’s very nice! You’d think a prince would not have time to speak with the commonfolk, but Prince Dimitri makes time for anyone who wishes to speak to him. He is quite the gentleman.”

“Marianne is with him today too,” Lysithea added. “We should go say hello to her, Mercedes. Has she attended any classes lately?”

“A few, but as I understand it, she has been receiving private tutoring at the palace.”

I nodded without quite hearing anything they said. A gaggle of other students were accosting the prince and calling invitations to spar together. He was soon surrounded by well-wishers and noble children who were undoubtably trying to curry favour with him. A distant part of my mind knew that is exactly what my uncle would expect of me as well with such a golden opportunity before me. Yet it was not the prince who claimed my attention so thoroughly that time seemed to slow around me. He was handsome and kindly looking, of that there is no doubt, but he might as well have been a gnat for all I cared about him.

Princes are rarely allowed the luxury travelling alone. I knew that even then, and I learned much more of the burden that placed on the shoulders of such a man as the years passed, but at that moment, my heart began to beat faster in my chest. I took a step forward before I realized I was moving, then another, until I was running as though I were an arrow loosed from a taut bowstring. It was unseemly and inappropriate to rush toward the prince like that but proper decorum was meaningless to me. My father was here with Prince Dimitri’s retinue, and I wanted nothing more than present myself not only as a proud daughter of House Dominic, but also as a diligent student of the School of Sorcery. Surely he could not fail to acknowledge my presence in front of the prince and risk social embarrassment.

I heard pounding footsteps overtaking me before I saw the shadow of a man enter my peripheral vision. I was so focused on my goal that I didn’t think anything of it until it was already too late. He grabbed my wrist, yanking me backwards, and whirled me around to face him. I stood limp with shock, staring at him with my mouth hanging open. Once that moment of surprise wore off, I tried to wiggle away from him but his hold on me was like iron. With a practiced ease, the man held me there, pinning my hands against my sides so that I could not move. I was trapped and I knew not why.

“Who sent you here?” he hissed at me in a low, dangerous voice. I stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and indignation. “Speak quickly, or you will be made to speak!”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snapped back, my anger getting the better of my good judgement. It is never wise to challenge a stronger opponent—and there was no question that is exactly what he was—but he had attacked me for no reason I could discern.

“Tell me,” he demanded again, completely ignoring my question. His eyes were bright with adrenaline and his dark hair was falling out of a knot tied at the back of his head. Unfortunately, his grip on my arms was like stone. “I have ways of making a snake speak.”

I glared at him, refusing to be cowed by his interrogation and I realized then that I had seen him before too. We locked gazes, both of us blazing and angry, and I again felt the undeniable connection between us. I could not then put it into words, and even now I struggle to explain it, but there was no denying that the Goddess had a plan for us two. I am certain he felt it too because he lightened his grip on my arms slightly. I did not trust him, of course, but I suddenly had a thousand questions and a burning determination to find the answers. He wore the red vest that marked him as a School of Combat trainee and I wondered how he could bear such a uniform and sully it with such actions as this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hissed back. I heard footsteps approaching our tableau and raised my voice with a slightly frantic edge. “How dare you attack me like this!”

He glared at me and opened his mouth to question me further, but a booming voice interrupted him.

“Oh, Felix, let go of the poor girl! That’s quite unnecessary.”

The scowling boy—Felix—shifted his gaze and grudgingly stepped back from me. I could feel the tingling sensation from where he had gripped me on my skin. The scene had attracted a few spectators, and although none of them appeared to be the prince, his dark-haired companion stood beside me. His eyes were a darker shade than his brother’s—after seeing Felix’s face only inches from my own, the family resemblance was undeniable—but he smiled genially, looked me up and down with a shrewd gaze and nodded.

“You look all right,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Disoriented,” I admitted with a scowl at Felix who stood glowering off to my left. “And quite offended by his unprovoked attack!”

“You must excuse my brother,” the tall man said with a pointed look at Felix. “He forgets his place sometimes.”

That sounded like an understatement. I saw him bristle at the words but if he disagreed with his brother’s sentiment, he said nothing.

“Oh, Annie, are you all right?”

Mercedes barrelled past the tall brother as though he wasn’t there and pressed her hands gently over my arms. She cast a reproachful glance at my assailant but directed her soothing voice to me. “Tell me if it hurts when I touch you, all right?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” I muttered. I hadn’t intended to attract such attention and now I had no less than five people surrounding me with varying degrees of concern for my health. A pretty woman in blue School of Sorcery clothes stood beside Lysithea looking at me with wide eyes. I averted my gaze and stared at the ground. I realized belatedly that I had drawn too much attention to myself with such a sudden rush toward the prince’s retinue. I should have approached more slowly instead of breaking into a desperate run. I should have known better than to ever approach the prince at a dead run, especially as a stranger.

A flicker of hope can, I learned that day, push you to do things you would not normally consider.

“Do you need help, Mercedes?” the young woman asked softly, stepping up beside us and carefully avoiding my eyes.

“Not at all. Thank you for your concern, Marianne,” Mercedes replied. I felt a slow warmth radiate across my arms that seemed to instantly relieve the tingling bit of pain as though it had never been. Her touch was gentle and loving, so starkly opposite of the distress I experienced at Felix’s hands. Why had he hurt me, a stranger, in front of all the people gathered in the training grounds? I could not make sense of the encounter.

“Please, accept my sincerest apologies on behalf of House Fraldarius,” the tall brother said formally. I could see the sincerity in his face. “I will see to it that such an…incident does not happen again.”

“Thank you,” I said to him. What else was there to say? Words are only words, and without action, they are meaningless.

“The boar calls, Glenn,” Felix said in a strained voice. I refused to look at him but his brother looked kind and honest, so I nodded slowly to signal my acceptance of his words.

“Your name is Annie?” Glenn asked as he bowed his farewell. It was more deferential that I deserved for my station. I offered a slightly curtsy in return that was not quite proper.

“Annette,” I corrected him. It felt right to introduce myself properly. Let them remember who that villain had so cruelly attacked without any provocation. “Annette Dominic.”

“Annette,” he repeated slowly. “I do hope we have a chance to speak again in the future under less distressing circumstances.”

The brothers took their leave of us then to return to the prince’s retinue with their heads bent closely together. Lysithea watched them go and then turned to me, her brows furrowed as though she were considering a particularly difficult Reason equation. “What was that all about?”

“How should I know?” I grumbled sourly. The question was probably rhetorical but she didn’t begrudge my temper.

“Why did you go running off like that anyway, Annie?” Mercedes asked as she withdrew her hands.

I hadn’t told anyone why I had really wished to attend the School of Sorcery and now I felt too foolish to admit the reason behind my actions because no matter how I stared at Prince Dimitri’s retinue, the truth was undeniable.

My father was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternative title to this chapter is "Annette Gets A Best Friend" :) Writing the scene where she meets Mercedes was both very heartwarming and a lot of fun. I hope you enjoyed meeting her and Lysithea here. Annette needs friends, and I like the idea of them helping her become more proficient in her magic. 
> 
> There's much more to come, but I'm still writing the next chapter, so it may be some time before it's ready. Sadly, I am back to work tomorrow after a nice break during which I intended to do a lot of writing and then didn't (I blame Hades--I couldn't put the game down!). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and your kind comments. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well :) 
> 
> Love, Kami


	5. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Story So Far...
> 
> After passing the entrance exam to the Royal School of Sorcery, Annette Dominic befriends her classmates Mercedes and Lysithea. Together, they help Annette catch up with the coursework and practical knowledge they have spent years perfecting during their own studies. One fateful day, as Annette is practicing her spellcasting, she catches her first glimpse of Prince Dimitri and among his escort is none other than her wayward father, Sir Gilbert Dominic. In her haste to meet him, she is intercepted by a fellow student by the name of Felix who mistakenly believes she means the prince harm.

“The mark of a great man is one who knows when to set aside the important things in order to accomplish the vital ones.”

― Brandon Sanderson, _The Alloy of Law_

\---

I was consumed by curiosity of that day in the training grounds. I had studied the genealogies of our kingdom, so I knew when Glenn told me to accept his apology on behalf of House Fraldarius that they were the sons of King Lambert’s right-hand man. Next to royal House Blaiddyd, they were both the wealthiest and most powerful of all the noble houses in the land. They claimed a bloodline directly from Fraldarius of the Ten Elites and had maintained the confidence of the royal family since the inception of the Holy Kingdom. Theirs was a family with whom you wanted to cultivate favour, not offence. Somehow, I seemed to have managed that with Felix, though I hardly understood what had happened. I may have been running most inappropriately toward the prince’s retinue, but I was very obviously unarmed. Even my friends could offer no suggestions for why he would act so, and certainly not toward someone he had never met before.

“By all accounts, he is standoffish at the best of times and downright rude anytime else,” Mercedes told me over tea. She plainly enjoyed gossip. “He spends a lot of time with Prince Dimitri, and he makes others quite uncomfortable.”

“I wonder how the prince can stand him,” I muttered darkly. I swirled sugar into my cup and stared at it as though Felix’s face would scowl back at me from the liquid. “If that’s how he treats people!”

“I’ve never seen him do that before,” Marianne put in, her voice so quiet I barely caught the words.

Marianne was a half head taller than I was, with hair the colour of a summer sky and brown eyes that were nearly always downcast. She and Mercedes seemed to be good friends, having attended Faith classes at the School of Sorcery together for several years, though Marianne did not always attend the on-campus sessions. She was betrothed to Prince Dimitri which meant that she did not have a dormitory on the campus and that some of her instruction was held privately at the palace. Yet the prince, I was to understand, visited the Royal Campus frequently at his father’s behest and took classes very regularly with the other students. Marianne was among his regular retinue—although her classes were separate from his—as were the Fraldarius brothers, and numerous other social hangers-on that I could not be bothered to name.

I tilted my head and regarded her thoughtfully while Marianne, for her part, stared resolutely into her own cup. “Do you know him well?” I asked.

“Not really.”

She wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

“Odd as it was, there’s no way for any of us to make heads of tails of the situation.” Lysithea was as pragmatic as ever and had long since bored of my dwelling on the topic. “I doubt it will happen again. Forget about it and focus on practicing your casting.”

Surprisingly, I had passed my practical test, though not by much. After the incident in the training grounds, I was too embarrassed to return there, and so I was forced to try and memorize the theory of spellcasting rather than practice the application of it. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course, but rather that one of the instructors caught me trying to stir up a gale behind the library and I was thoroughly reprimanded for such carelessness. It seemed I was not the first student to try and circumvent the rules. Evidentially, my predecessors in the matter had caused some amount of chaos and collateral damage in doing so which resulted in a strict ban on outdoor practice.

“You should go back to the training grounds,” Mercedes chided me gently. She never sounded judgemental, but there was a definite finality in her tone. “You cannot afford to scrape by. You’re a natural, so with a little practice, you’ll have no trouble at all.”

I knew she was right, so although I dreaded it, I did as she suggested and went to the training grounds immediately after dawn prayers the following morning to practice my form. When I arrived, they were deserted. I supposed that most students were not prone to rising as early as I, and this buoyed my spirits knowing that I would have some time to privately practice before there was any chance of further embarrassment. I knew that even if I saw my father with the prince’s retinue again, I would need to devise a different tactic that would not gain me any unwanted attention, and the silence of the training area—interrupted only by the sound of my shoes scraping across the flagstones and the whistle of a weak gust of wind—provided me ample opportunity to ponder this dilemma in peace.

I had no idea where my father had disappeared after I had finally been released from that villain’s grasp, and it was utterly vexing to know he had evaded me. I deduced that the prince must have sent him off on some errand while I was otherwise occupied and wherever that errand had taken him, my father was well away from the School of Combat by the time we departed the training grounds. Not for the first time, I wished I knew more of my father’s duties to the crown. Did he frequently accompany the prince when he was away from the palace? Were there other duties that he completed alone in the city where I might be able to confront him? I had no way of knowing and no one to ask without inviting uncomfortable questions. After Felix had detained me from reaching him initially, I was desperate to avoid further interrogation. Surely I could not brush off my actions as mere curiosity to meet the prince a second time.

The leaning dummy stared at me sightlessly, so I shook my head and refocused my attention on it. My control over the wind was still sporadic, but after only two weeks of regular dawn practices, I found that my skill had increased exponentially. When I called the wind, it came more easily and flowed where I directed it almost as though it were an extension of my very self. I could send it like knives into the dummy or use it to caress the skin of my face. My fingers tingled pleasantly when I channelled my magic and, as my confidence grew, I longed to dance with joy that at least one of my goals was within my grasp. I was a mage, and with devotion to my craft, I could be a master. I had no desire to use it for harm, of course, but I thought I could put it to use in other, more mundane tasks.

My peaceful hours alone in the training grounds were numbered, of course. I suppose it was inevitable that someone else would eventually arrive as the birds welcomed the dawn, for not all students were night owls. I arrived after prayers on a morning during Great Tree Moon and strode briskly toward my favourite dummy. Setting my schoolbags well away from the range, I spread my feet apart just enough to keep my balance and extend my arms at precisely the right angles. Perhaps a quarter of an hour had passed when I heard the heavy doors swing open at the other end of the room. I was halfway through casting a spell that was supposed to be strong enough to overturn a warrior in full armor when I caught the movement of a man off to my left. My curiosity got the better of me and I turned my head to see who had arrived to make use of the quiet dawn.

Felix met my eyes with a cold stare. I felt my blood run cold and my mouth go dry.

His eyes blazed with the fire of distrust, but his lips remained firmly pressed together in a disapproving frown. He held an unsheathed sword in one hand while I still held my own hands upwards, ready to cast another gust of wind at my dummy. Despite the apprehension that filled me, I could not tear my eyes away from his. I wondered again why he had accosted me that fateful day when my father had accompanied the prince here, and dreaded how he would assuredly interrogate me further now that we were alone with no one to intervene. I opened my mouth, unsure of what I was going to say to forestall him from speaking but nonetheless determined to try, and snapped it shut once more when he turned abruptly away.

I watched him stalk silently toward a dummy as far as possible from mine but from where he could still watch me at my own practice. He thrust the sword into the stuffed belly of the dummy with ease and withdrew it in a single, smooth motion so that only a handful of loose straw cascaded to the ground. Then he spun in a circle, as nimble as a dancer while he apparently warded off a dozen imaginary foes, until he was again facing the wounded dummy and slashed it across the chest. It swayed awkwardly from the force of Felix’s blow but he continued to move as fluidly as water through different stances, each more complex than the last. I was still angry with how he had treated me, and I was frustrated that he had subverted my expectation that he would confront me now that we were alone, yet I was too entranced by his movements to dwell too deeply on those feelings.

My fingertips still itched with the lingering touch of magic and so I finally turned away and did my best to pretend that I was still alone. Although I was a good liar, and I lied best of all to myself, I could still feel his eyes on me as I summoned unstable gales that I knew brushed threateningly against his skin. It was a semi-unconscious effect on my part. Certainly, I did not wish to give this man any more reason to distrust me, and I could not afford to make enemies that might hinder the success of my own secret desire, but I could no more control the strength of the wind than I could the force of my own anger.

From that day onward, Felix was in the training grounds before me nearly every day. It was obvious that he did not attend dawn prayers and he made a valiant attempt to pretend to ignore my presence when I arrived. I allowed him that, of course. Having confided the first incident to Mercedes one night as we huddled together under a blanket while I tried to tune my lyre to the instructions she had procured from a fellow music enthusiast in her Faith classes, she advised me not to show him any fear.

“You did nothing wrong, and had you reached the prince, Felix would have seen you intended him no harm.” She smiled and patted my forearm. “It was he who acted out of turn.”

“So what should I do?” I moaned. “I was making progress before he showed up, and then it was all I could do to maintain control of my magic.”

“Look at it as a perfect learning opportunity,” Mercedes suggested. “There will always be times when emotions run high and bleed into your spells. As a mage, you must learn to separate yourself from your spells. The training grounds are open to all, and you have every right to be there. Go, and use him as a tool to practice your spellcasting.”

As always, Mercedes had the right of it. I had never considered using him—or anyone else—as a tool for my own ends, but there is no better way to learn than to overcome adversity. So I steeled my resolve and returned to my favourite training dummy every morning. The dawn hours were filled with the sounds of crackling magic and singing steel, feet scraping against the ground and a tense battle of wills. Each of us pretended not to notice how the other watched our every move and judged how we would fare in battle against each other. I had no desire to fight him, and although I disliked him, I had to respect his skill with a blade. Even to my untrained eye, I could tell that he knew well how to use it.

“Why are you here?” he asked suddenly on a cold, wet morning at the end of Great Tree Moon. My hair was dripping rivulets down my cheeks and I stared at him blankly for a moment before I realized he had asked me a direct question.

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you here?” Felix repeated, pronouncing every word with cold clarity.

“I’m training, the same as you,” I said defensively. I pushed aside my wet bangs from my forehead and wiped my eyelashes free of the clinging raindrops.

“No,” he said, waving his arm expansively as though that alone clarified anything. “Why are you _here_ , in Fhirdiad?”

Surely he jested. I gestured to my sodden uniform as though he were simple. “I’m a student, obviously. Or did you somehow miss the crest of sorcery on my blazer?”

He snorted derisively and sheathed his sword. I stood my ground as he approached, arms crossed over my chest and my feet set apart defiantly. I glared into his amber eyes and saw the same distrust there, but his expression looked curious, as though I presented a puzzle that he wished to solve. I didn’t like that one bit.

“You’ve not tried to tour the palace even once since the curfew was lifted,” Felix said, stopping a few feet from where I stood and studying me with that piercing gaze. “You have never returned to these grounds except during the dawn hours before the rest of the school has awakened.”

“I don’t see how my activities are any of your business.”

“Who sent you here?” he asked, a deliberate echoing of our first encounter.

“I came of my own volition,” I said icily. “I suppose if you want to get technical, my uncle sent me for the benefit of my education.”

The look on Felix’s face told me that he didn’t believe a word I’d said, but he did not try to argue. I looked aside after a moment of tense silence, breaking our gazes and trying to ignore the way my heart raced in my chest. He was close enough to grab me again, but I remained where I was, daring him to do it. I snapped my fingers to summon a small blaze of fire in the palm of my hand and held it just close enough to dry my uniform so that it would not cling so uncomfortably to my skin. It was a trick Mercedes had taught me—one of the few Reason spells she could reliably cast, as she said—and I wondered if he would be impressed by it. I hoped it would deter him from interrogating me further.

“Annette Dominic,” he said softly into the silence. “I will find out what you’re after. You cannot hide from me.”

I glanced at him, a pleasant smile on my face.

“Felix Fraldarius,” I said sweetly, “Do keep in mind that the heroine always outwits the villain.”

I left him there and I felt his eyes follow me the entire time I was in the training grounds.

\---

Spring blossoms heralded the arrival of Harpstring Moon and with it came my name day. Little white flower buds speckled the bushes outside of Daffodil House and Mercedes had procured a vase full of early blooms to brighten our room. Although my name day fell on a weekend, I awoke for dawn prayers as was my usual custom. Yet when it came time for me to part with my friend to practice my magic, Mercedes slipped her arm through mine and pulled me back toward the dining hall. She grinned at my surprise but did not slow her pace.

“It is your name day,” she proclaimed as we walked. “I think you can take one day to just enjoy yourself. What better way to begin than with a hot, fresh breakfast?”

As if her words had summoned my hunger, I heard my stomach growl in agreement. She laughed and I could not hold back a chuckle of my own.

“You’re right,” I agreed, squeezing her hand. I put my usual routine out of my mind and tried not to wonder what Felix would make of my absence. “I _am_ famished.”

We sat by a window with plates piled high with buttered toast, eggs and bacon, fresh fruit and grilled fish. It was too early for many students to be at breakfast, and I saw only a few of our instructors sitting with their own meals and reading the morning newspaper. Now that we were here, I could not imagine spending my name day by mindlessly adhering to my usual routine. Perhaps it was because I had spent most of my previous name days without much fuss when I lived at my uncle’s manor. He had never bothered to celebrate my name day the way he celebrated those of his own family, and my father had never gone out of his way to make it special. Only Jérôme and the servants had bothered to wish me congratulations on gaining another year, but they had their own duties to attend. There is no joy in a celebration spent alone.

“I thought we would visit Amaryllis House when we’re done and see if Lysithea would like to join us for a day out in the city,” Mercedes said, sipping her coffee daintily. It was a fashionable drink that was popular in Adrestia. Personally, I couldn’t stand the stuff, but Mercedes insisted it was necessary to properly begin the morning. “You’ve not had time to see the sights since you arrived with all your devotion to studying, and I think that’s a real shame.”

“That sounds lovely,” I replied honestly. “Where did you have in mind?”

“The Grand Cathedral, for a start,” she said wistfully. “It’s beautiful. And then the Grand Market, for no trip into the city is complete without visiting it.”

I did not tell her that I recalled the soaring belltowers of the cathedral nor the bustle of the market. It had been years since I had seen either of them up close, and Mercedes had put a lot of thought into making the day special. Never had I seen them while accompanied by real friends. I swallowed the remainder of my meal with a gusto that made her laugh and once we had returned our empty plates to the kitchens, we walked arm in arm through the campus toward Lysithea’s dormitory.

The sun was well risen in the sky before the three of us were ready to depart the campus. It was a fine day so we decided to walk instead of hailing a carriage to carry us into the city. Now that the weather was warmer, the risk of catching the bone chill was practically nullified as it was always the most dangerous during the cold winter months. I breathed the fresh air deeply and allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of being free. When had I last felt like a young woman with no cares in the world beyond the moment? Had I ever felt like that? For a time, I was able to set aside my desire to be reunited with my father and pretend that I did not care what plans my uncle was concocting for my future.

The cathedral was situated at the edge of the upper district and attracted tourists from across Fódlan in addition to its usual congregation. Important events among nobles were often held there if the family possessed the necessary connections to arrange it. Wide steps led up to a pair of thick doors with the crests of the four saints embossed upon them. People milled about the sumptuous foyer as we proceeded into the nave. It smelled heavily of incense and tall candelabras glinted along the perimeter of the room. Sunlight streamed through the high windows and cast a rainbow glow across the marble floor. Monks in snowy robes moved reverently through the hall, pausing to speak quietly to the visitors or offer a blessing to pilgrims seeking the favour of the Goddess. It was much as I recalled it from my childhood, a place of beauty and stillness where you could almost believe the Goddess was truly looking down upon you.

I felt a profound sense of loss as we approached the statue at the far end of the room. She towered above us with her arms spread wide and her face carved with a look of fierce determination as she gazed toward something no one else could see. My mother had loved the way the sculptor had portrayed her, and now that I looked upon her again, I thought I saw something of my mother in the tilt of her chin and the welcoming gesture of her arms. Mercedes and Lysithea preceded me, blithely unaware of the emotion that caught in my throat and slowed my gait. The sorrow that filled me was as fresh as though my mother had only just died. I hadn’t expected that, the feeling of my heart twisting painfully in my chest with the sharp pangs of fresh grief. I felt her absence more sharply than I had in many years because the child who still lived in my heart recognized this as a place where her mother ought to have been.

“Annette?” Mercedes asked. She turned back and gently steered me forward. “You look a little pale. Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” I assured her. The low hum of voices drifting through the cathedral and her steadying hand on my back brought my wandering mind back to the present. “Come, let us thank the Goddess for such a fine day.”

“There’s an awful lot of knights here today,” Lysithea mused once we were finished. “Do you suppose something happened in town?”

“None of them look on edge,” I replied. A scan of the room confirmed that my father was not among any of the knights in the cathedral, but if there was anywhere I might happen to find him, it would be here. “I’m sure if there was any danger, it would be obvious.”

“I heard that a delegation arrived from Enbarr the other day,” Mercedes put in cheerfully. “Relations have been rather strained with the Empire lately, so perhaps the increased presence is merely precautionary.”

“Relations with the Empire are _always_ strained,” Lysithea muttered. “No less with the Leicester Alliance than here. Perhaps more so, as we are more easily threatened than Faerghus.”

“Surely they would not try to mount an attack now,” I said, and I could hear the incredulity in my voice. “We have been at peace since the time of King Eoforhild, and King Lambert has done everything in his power to maintain that. No one wants to return to war.”

“Ambition does not vanish in times of peace,” Lysithea countered. “Don’t be so childish, Annette. Peace always precedes war, that’s just the way of it.”

“We’re not at war yet, and if King Lambert is wise, he will forestall any war so long as it is within his power to do so,” Mercedes interjected before I could make my response. She smiled at me and gestured back the way we had come. “If the Goddess favours us, there will be no war again for a long, long time. Come now, today is a celebration! Let us head to market and see if there is nothing there that can distract us from such dark rumours.”

The walk into the heart of Fhirdiad from the cathedral was not far but privately I wondered whether Lysithea was right to be concerned by the number of knights present in the city. They stood on nearly every street corner like imposing gargoyles and if no one paid them any direct heed, that did not mean they were unnoticed. We did not glance at them as we walked by, but like everyone else, we gave them a wide berth. I could feel their eyes on me as we passed and for an instant, I wondered if this was Felix’s doing, that he was making good on his promise in the training grounds. I dismissed that thought almost before it had finished forming in my head; he was the son of a wealthy noble, but even he did not have the power to order the royal knights to monitor my movements. Still, the uneasy feeling of being watched did not dissipate, but when I surreptitiously glanced around, there was no one there.

The Grand Market was abuzz with activity when we arrived. Vendors had set up shops with colourful awnings to protect their wares from the hot sun and shouted at the passing crowd what they had to offer. It had grown since my childhood and I felt momentarily stunned that it had become so diverse. I saw vendors decked in the rich jewels and silks of Leicester while others bore the unmistakable accent of Adrestia. There were vendors of even more exotic appearance too, sailors from Brigid with their gems and pearls and Almyran spice merchants wearing their customary leather jerkins and belted skirts. Merchants from the Duscur region of Faerghus, too, were gathered in the market, and if they looked more wary of the crowd, their hand-stitched fur cloaks and intricately woven baskets were of equal beauty to anything else I saw for sale.

We paused at the stall of a plump Leicester woman with vials of perfume for sale. I had never owned such a thing before, and my nose was overwhelmed by the mix of scents that were available. Evidentially, Mercedes was no stranger to these wares, and she selected a delicate bottle that smelled of lavender and honey when she removed the stopper. I chose one the smelled of orange blossoms with a hint of vanilla that Lysithea sniffed approvingly and which Mercedes declared suited my bright personality perfectly. I pressed my coins into the woman’s outstretched hand and carefully stowed the tiny bottle in my coin pouch.

“There’s a new café over on Chestnut Street,” Lysithea said as we pushed our way through the crowd of shoppers. She was so short that I am sure I would have lost sight of her had we not been walking in single file with Mercedes at the head. “I heard their desserts are to die for.”

“That’s not far from here,” I said excitedly. “Shall we check it out?”

Arriving at the café took longer than I anticipated. Part of this was due to the sheer volume of shoppers in the Grand Market as there were not only tourists but inhabitants of the city and surrounding villages who came to complete their usual errands. Of course, the rest of blame must lay squarely on our own shoulders as we paused to browse the wares offered at many stalls along our winding route through the throng of people. Mercedes insisted on purchasing a lovely wide-brimmed hat with a silky orange ribbon as a birthday gift for me from an Adrestian woman whose other wares included delicate sandals and intricate gold chain link belts.

We made our way toward the edge of the market and the crowd seemed to thin as we did so. Lysithea insisted on visiting a stall that boasted handmade stuffed animals and intricately carved toys. She began bartering with the proprietor over the price of bear with a fabric outfit that resembled a knight’s armor. It was very cute, but the sight of the carved wooden toys made my heart twist unnaturally in my chest, so I turned away and strode further down the lane. A merchant from distant Brigid cooked fish cakes and other exotic things that I could not name while his neighbour, a fellow who looked distinctly northern but whose voice betrayed an Adrestian accent, shouted that he had the best tea leaves in all of Fódlan for sale. The aroma of brewed tea was almost tempting enough to stop for a sample, but a vendor at the end of the row caught my eye.

Her stall was empty of customers, but she seemed oblivious to her lack of popularity. Often, stalls at the edges of the market would attract a steady stream of customers since you had to pass them as you entered and as you left. I could see bottles of all shapes and sizes arrayed in front of her, each neatly labelled and tightly stoppered. Several small boxes filled with a variety of dried herbs that I did not recognize sat in organized rows at the edge of her table. The proprietor did not look up as I approached. She was carefully measuring a thick, greenish liquid into a squat little bottle whose label read _Sorrowroot Tincture_ in somewhat spindly lettering. It was then that I realized that this woman was an apothecary.

_Mother…_ I thought suddenly, remembering that she, too, had brewed potions and antivenoms and other such things that were highly valued by the poor. Such people did not have the coin to afford a proper healer and even the Church of Seiros, despite its commitment to aiding the poor, was often overwhelmed by the number of people seeking healing every day. It simply wasn’t realistic for the impoverished people of Fódlan to rely on a magical remedy that they may never receive before it was too late. As such, apothecaries were an affordable alternative to the magic of Faith. You could barter with an apothecary, negotiate a repayment schedule if you did not have the funds immediately available, and in turn, the apothecary would offer their services. Some clerics might offer their magic in a similar way, but most other healers were not open to such negotiation. Magic took a toll on the caster’s own body after all and such practitioners naturally wanted their compensation upfront.

I knew Lysithea considered the trade to be complete nonsense, insisting that the potions apothecaries offered were little more than coloured water sold at a premium to the gullible masses. She, however, had been born into a well-to-do family where access to magical remedies was never an issue. Even Mercedes, who worked with the poor most of her life, thought most apothecaries were apt to prey on the suffering. I’m certain she was right that there were many untrustworthy people out there selling useless brews as though they were a real remedy, yet I was equally as certain that most apothecaries—whether journeymen or masters—practiced their trade honestly. I was the daughter of one, and I may have been young, but I trusted my memory that mother would never have used her skills to scam anyone.

“What does sorrowroot tincture do?” I asked the shopkeeper.

She set the bottle on the table and glanced up at me. Her eyes were rheumy and her face resembled an apple left in the sun too long.

“It soothes the grieving soul of a person who has lost a loved one,” she croaked. “Sends them into a deep, dreamless sleep. Such a person ought to be allowed this kind of rest for no more than seven days, or they might never reawaken.”

“That sounds…useful.” I floundered for a word that would not sound offensive. In truth, I was a bit disconcerted at the thought of such a potion that could so easily kill an unsuspecting victim if it was used improperly.

“Some people can handle grief well,” the woman said with an unconcerned shrug. “Others may become a danger to themselves or others. Sorrowroot relaxes the mind and coaxes a person into a drowsy, dreamless state. It helps the mind let go of some of its anger and sadness so that when they wake, they can face their grief more easily.”

“What about this one?” I asked, pointed to a fat little bottle with an unappealing brown liquid inside.

“A willow bark brew to treat fevers,” she said and then pointed at a similar bottle beside it. “And that is gingerroot to settle the stomach.”

I picked up a little jar of pale cream. “And this?”

“A mix of comfrey and some other ingredients that help heal lesions and other open sores.”

“It is amazing that you are able to make so many different restoratives.” I smiled at her warmly. “How did you learn so much? I can’t imagine it was easy.”

She peered at me suspiciously and ignored my question entirely. “Are you buying something, or not? I’ve other things to do and no time for useless chatter.”

I was taken aback by the sudden hostility in her voice. In my experience, most people were flattered when someone showed interest in their skills and they were inclined to speak plainly their thoughts on the matter at hand. Perhaps apothecaries were a superstitious folk who worried that their recipes might be stolen by a rival. Historically, magic users across Fódlan had acted in much the same way and it was not until the practice had become more ingrained in society that mages became more willing to share the research and spells they had developed. With the practice of herbalism and apothecaries firmly fading with the advent of Faith healing, there was a substantially smaller group of people still actively practicing the art. I reasoned with myself that perhaps it was only natural that the old woman was protective of her craft.

“Oh, yes!” I stammered, feeling that it would be rude now to walk away without a purchase. “Do you have anything that would help with sleeping soundly at night? Something less intensive than the sorrowroot tincture,” I added hastily.

She bent low beneath the table to poke through a box that I could not see while I unhooked my coin purse from my belt. I heard a commotion at the Brigidian man’s stall where a crowd had gathered but before I could turn my head to see what was going on, the apothecary had re-emerged with a small bottle of clear liquid labelled _Valerian Draught._ She set it before me and said “Two drops before bed, mixed with water or a weak tea will ease the mind and facilitate a deep, restful sleep.”

“That’s perfect.” I loosened the strands of my coin purse. “How much is it?”

“Two gold and fourteen silver pieces,” she said immediately.

“Two gold?” I cried. Jérôme had ensured I had coin, but I knew better than to spend it wastefully. Even the perfume bottle I had purchased earlier had not cost so much. I decided to try negotiating. “Eighteen silvers.”

“One gold, sixteen silvers,” she countered loudly over the noise from the crowd at the fish cake stall. I could hear shouting but I was too distracted by the apothecary to pay much attention.

“Nineteen silvers, that is my final offer,” I called boldly. I was not a very skilled negotiator, and I am sure my technique was far from polished. Nor did I know anything about the value of such goods or whether the woman was scamming me because she could tell I was inexperienced. Nevertheless, I silently vowed to do right by Jérôme and conserve as much of my money as possible. Nineteen silver pieces was still more than I wanted to pay, so I hoped it was a fair enough offer for her to accept.

Before the woman could respond, I felt something crash into me with what seemed like the force of a donkey. I fell gracelessly to the ground and the contents of my open coin purse scattered across the cobblestone street. My vial of perfume glinted a few feet away from me and then disappeared as grimy fingers enclosed it from my view. I pushed myself to my knees, trying to ignore the stinging pain in my legs, and saw a young man to my left with fish cakes held haphazardly in one arm. With his free hand, he scooped the fallen coins into my little pouch. I watched him dumbly for a moment until he flicked his bright green eyes toward me and hurriedly stood.

“Oh, thank you,” I began, raising my voice so that I could be heard above the noise of the crowd. I brushed as much of the dirt off my skirt as I could and reached toward the boy to retrieve my purse. “Such a commotion all of a sudden—"

He turned and ran without a word. I stood with my mouth half open, the words dying on my tongue as I watched him dodge past people passing through the market entrance back into the winding roads of Fhirdiad. The city had always been a safe place in my mind because I had never felt at risk when I lived there. I knew this was a flaw in my logic, to assume that a place where I had never been in any direct danger was inherently safe, but I had not previously been able to break through that feeling of comfort in the home of my childhood. Nostalgia is a powerful drug and its effects can have dangerous consequences for those who are unwilling to acknowledge the reality of a situation. It was only when that young man looked me in the eyes and then ran away with my purse that I was able to recognize my own errors.

I could not allow him to escape. How could I go back to my uncle and beg for more money to cover my expenses simply because a thief had stolen my wallet? Guillaume would laugh and blame the loss on my carelessness, a point which was not completely untrue. I heard voices around me shouting and pointing in the direction the thief had gone, but no one seemed inclined to follow him. The Brigidian merchant would lose more money by chasing the boy into the depths of an unfamiliar city than by simply continuing to cook and serve the customers who remained in the area. Yet I had no such luxury; that money was all I had for the foreseeable future, and I intended to retrieve it.

With my mind made up, I dashed off after him. He was not that far ahead of me, but he was small and lithe, and clearly more used to weaving his way through a crowd. I kept my eyes trained on his back and tried to avoid people in my path without much success. Strangers cursed at me as I pushed past them but I ignored them. The thief escaped my view more than once, but I followed the trail of displaced people down the street until I spotted his torn jacket ahead of me and then redoubled my efforts to reach him. I was not entirely sure what part of Fhirdiad we traversed but the further we went, the more dilapidated the shopfronts became. Wherever we were, it was an area no intelligent tourist—or Faerghan citizen—would willingly visit. I knew that my new sunhat and the cut of my capelet marked me as an outsider. This was a dangerous place and I, in my usual headstrong fashion, had plunged into it unthinkingly.

The young man turned suddenly down an alley that I would otherwise have gone right past. It was narrow and dark from bits of roof blocking the sun. Broken crates and other debris littered the path. Folk down on their luck lounged back against the walls, some sleeping in a nest of old blankets and dirty straw while others leered at me as I passed. The boy glanced over his shoulder and looked mildly surprised that he was still being followed. He scrambled atop a pile of boxes, dropped two of his stolen fish cakes, and vaulted over a stone wall at the end of the alley.

“Kyphon’s blood,” I cursed breathlessly. I was already lost in a warren of twisting alleys and surrounded by ruffians who would not hesitate to take whatever else I had of value on my person. I had two choices: turn back and hope that I could retrace my way out unscathed, or continue to pursue my thief and see where this path led me.

With a heaving breath, I tried to mimic the way he had clambered atop the boxes. I was less agile, having not had much reason to run for long distances or scale walls during my youth, but I persevered and pushed myself upwards. When I reached the top, my legs felt like lead and if I had been in any position to do so, I would have stayed there until my sore muscles fully relaxed. Nevertheless, I clamped my hands on the top of the wall and tried to push myself over the top. It took me three tries to succeed, and I doubt I would have except that I thought to use my wind magic for an extra boost that sent me hurtling over the ledge. I fell into a pile of old straw on the other side. Nobody was visible in the shadows of the alley, so I stood and shook off the worst of the dirt from my dress and strode confidently forward while trying resolutely to ignore the aches in my legs.

The alley branched into two separate paths. One seemed to loop back in the direction I had travelled from while the other continued further in the way I was going. I could hear voices ahead of me, but as I listened, I determined that they did not sound threatening. With my mind made up, I walked in the direction of the voices, taking each step as lightly as I could and consciously trying not to make a sound. I don’t think I succeeded very well at that. Had anyone been expecting my arrival, I would have been found out in an instant. There was a small, rundown shack ahead of me but there was no cover for me to crouch behind, so I stood as still as possible against the wall in the shadowed alley and watched as a young girl in a dress several inches too short shoved the last crispy pieces of a fish cake into her mouth. Beside her, a boy licked his fingers clean of the final remnants of his own meal. The thief sat sprawled on the ground watching both of them with a satisfied smile on his face. None of them had noticed me approach.

“That was delicious!” the girl announced. She twirled around like a sprightly little fairy and pulled the boy beside her into the dance. “I _love_ fish cakes. I could eat them every day!”

“You’d get sick of them everyday,” the boy scoffed. He pulled out of her grasp and picked up a battered stick in a close approximation of how one might hold a sword. He pointed it toward his sister as though he were about to challenge her to a duel. “If you learned how to cook, Lucia, you could eat them as much as you wanted.”

“I’m not interested in cooking!” Lucia declared. “I’m going to be a knight, just like you and Ashe. I don’t want to be stuck in a house all day.”

“Girls can’t be knights!” her brother argued.

“Yes, they can! Thunder Catherine is a knight, and I bet you wouldn’t dare tell _her_ that girls can’t be knights Geoffrey!”

“You can both be knights,” the young man said with a yawn. “But you’ll need to practice for a long time before you’re ready for that. Nevertheless, cooking is not only an essential life skill, it’s also fun. You shouldn’t give up on it so quickly, either of you.”

Neither of the children seemed convinced by the young man’s earnest tone. Geoffrey hefted his stick and swung it experimentally. Lucia—who did not possess a stick of her own—held an imaginary sword and lunged toward her brother. As I watched them spar, I realized that I had not thought this plan through very well. I was lost in the back streets of Fhirdiad and I had no idea how the thief would react to my having followed him to his den. As much as I wanted my money back, I had no idea how I would accomplish that. It could not be as simple as demanding that he return it, and I could not predict whether he might become violent if I confronted him on the matter. I hated to admit it, but I never should have come this far. I should have given it up and wrote to my uncle and begged him to replace my funds.

“I’m going to see Franz. He wants to be a knight too, so we can practice together.” Geoffrey’s voice was closer to me now.

I came back to myself just in time to see him collide with me in the alley while his head was turned toward the shack. I lost my balance and hit the ground with my hip and felt it jolt through my entire body. The boy did not tumble to the ground with me, but rather stumbled back with a shout of alarm that brought the thief to his feet in an instant. It was among the worst possible ways to be found out, and if I could have undone all of the decisions that brought me to that moment, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I was foolish beyond belief to have come here.

“Who are you?” Lucia asked with an innocent curiosity. “We don’t get many visitors. Did you come to see Ashe?”

I glanced between them and opened my mouth to speak but the thief’s wide green eyes caught mine. He shook his head so minutely that I almost missed the gesture. I glanced between the children and then back to him, and I understood that he knew exactly why I was there. There was guilt in his eyes and he clenched his hands together at his sides. He stared at me imploringly and I realized that he did not want our confrontation to occur in front of their eyes. I did not owe him that kindness, but I hated to be cruel even to one who had been so to me. Instead, I forced a smile and nodded.

“Yes, I am.”

The children looked expectantly at the thief. He made a shooing motion with his hands and tried to smile at them but it only made him look sick. “Go see Franz, both of you. If you want to be knights, you need to practice.”

They went with some reluctance, frequently glancing back to stare at us with the brazen curiosity of childhood. We stood in uncomfortable silence until they were well out of earshot. It occurred to me that Mercedes and Lysithea must be worried sick about my whereabouts but there was nothing that I could do about that now. I had made my choice, for good or ill, and there was no way to go but forward.

“I suppose you came for your money,” Ashe said at last, sounding rueful. He ran a hand through his hair which, despite the grime of it, looked like strands of silver. “I can’t say that I blame you, although I’ll admit that I didn’t expect you to follow me all the way here.”

“I didn’t expect to make it all this way,” I replied honestly.

“Then this must be fate.” He withdrew my pouch from his belt and laughed bitterly. “The Goddess knows my sins, after all, and had judged it time for me to pay for them. Quite literally, it would seem.”

I took the proffered purse but hesitated to attach it back to my belt. Ashe was not at all what I expected a thief to be like. I had never encountered a thief before, of course, except in books but they always seemed to steal from the rich to give to the poor. A few were shady fellows who served as antagonists and ultimately met their doom on the tip of a hero’s blade when they were inevitably brought to justice for their crimes. None were ever ordinary people who had been dealt a poor hand in life. Regular people who turned to increasingly desperate means merely to live did not make for interesting stories, for who would want to read a reflection of their own bleak life?

“Why did you do it?” I blurted out the question that had been burning inside me since the young man had ran off with my coins.

He coloured and dropped his eyes. “It was instinct. I saw the coins on the ground and I wanted them. Needed them. A small fortune like that could turn our lives around, mine and my siblings. It was too tempting an opportunity to pass up.”

A small fortune, he said. To me, it was an inconvenience to lose the money, but I knew that I could request more. Even if Guillaume berated me for my incompetence, I would not be left penniless when I was representing House Dominic in Fhirdiad.

“I understand,” I said, although I was not certain that I truly did. I had not been that poor since my mother was alive, and even then, she had made enough money with her potions and salves to provide for the two of us. “Stealing is wrong, though.”

“I know that,” Ashe admitted, his cheeks colouring so that his freckles stood out. “I’m sorry, truly.”

“How long have you lived on the streets?”

The thief looked surprised that I had asked that. I waited as he considered whether or not he wished to answer. “Six…no, almost seven years.”

“And your parents are…” I searched for a kind word. “…in the care of the Goddess?”

“My father was killed after a gambling incident gone wrong. That was a long time ago.” He voice was carefully neutral. “My mother got sick after we ended up on the streets. I think it was the bone chill, but she was never diagnosed.”

“I’m so sorry.” I felt my throat constrict over the words. I might have ended up like him if my mother had not sent for Guillaume. I may have had a lonely childhood, but I had never wanted for anything. “My mother also died of the bone chill. We used to live in the slums in Fhirdiad.”

I don’t know why I told him that. I hadn’t even spoken of it to Mercedes, my first and best friend.

“It’s a horrible disease,” he commiserated softly. “Even so, I know it’s not an excuse to steal. After the first time I did it, I hated myself. I almost turned myself into the authorities. But I saw my brother and my sister were so happy to have real food again and…and I vowed that I would do everything I could to provide for them.”

“That is a noble cause.” The pouch of coins felt absurdly heavy in my palm. “Good people make bad decisions all the time even when they have the best intentions.”

“You’re kind.” He smiled at me and it was full of regret. “I don’t deserve that after what I’ve done.”

“Surely you could find work,” I said. “In a big, busy city like this, there must be plenty of people who would hire any willing pair of hands.”

“That’s true. But few people want to hire a boy dressed in rags and without his letters.”

Would I have struggled in the same way had my mother not had the foresight to send for Guillaume to take me in? After all that _had_ happened to me, I doubted my father would have rescued me from destitution. If I had survived long enough on the street, would I also have turned to thievery? My heart ached for Ashe and his siblings, ached for the life they had lost because their mother had lacked the resources to secure their future. I was lucky in more ways than I had known, and now that I stood face to face with the reality of what my own life could have been, I felt that I owed it to my mother to help this young man.

Villains would not see it in the same light, but I was a heroine and I did what I knew was right.

“I will help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while! I hope you're all doing well.
> 
> I've had a tough time maintaining the motivation to write because I work SO much. I'm completely exhausted every day and I was struggling to write even a few sentences a night for a while. So this took a lot longer than I hoped it would :( I'm REALLY happy this is done, and I'm pleased with how it turned out after how long it took to write.
> 
> Although we covered a lot of different things here, you will see many of these themes come up in later chapters. Do keep in mind that the ultimate goal is for Felix and Annette to fall madly in love, but the road to get there is long and arduous. There will be twists and turns, and nothing will be easy. And I promise, it will all be worth it!
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment :) I do like chatting, and I'm always happy to see what you think of the fic! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you will stick it out with me.
> 
> Love, Kami

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! 
> 
> I'm back with this new fic and I'm excited to share it with you! I started planning this one as I finished ASFT, and it took about 2 months to outline the entire thing. We're looking at another long story (yay!) although the number of chapters is still flexible at this point (likely upwards, knowing me haha). 
> 
> I have a few housekeeping items to mention before we get on with more of the story. 
> 
> 1\. This is an AU. There will be some (though not all) events from the game that will appear under different circumstances and for different reasons. This also means that some characters may act slightly differently due to a different set of circumstances and a different plot to follow. 
> 
> 2\. I am writing this fic as I go, and I cannot commit to a regular update schedule. My job is very busy, and I frequently work long hours that make it difficult to spend as much time as I would like on my writing. So rest assured I intend to finish this fic, but there are likely going to be long gaps between updates. I will include short 'The Story So Far...' summaries at the beginning of new chapters so that it's easy to recall what has happened in previous chapters. 
> 
> 3\. This is an Annette-centric story, and the primary romance is Felix/Annette. I have plans for our favourite power-couple, but it will take time for them to reach that point narratively. Regardless of what comes, do not fear: they are my OTP. As always, other relationships will be sprinkled in! 
> 
> 4\. I have a lot of exciting things planned for this fic and I don't want to give everything away yet! I promise it will be fun :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! <3
> 
> Love, Kami


End file.
